What it means to be loved
by Erik'strueloverxxx
Summary: The year is 1880 and Gustave Daae and his only daughter Christine are living in the slums of Paris, having fallen from fame as a world-class violinist. With his loss of fame and his beloved wife, he takes to alcohol and gambling. But what happens one night when the stakes are raised and his opponent, a mysterious man who wears a mask,demands more than he can offer?
1. Chapter 1

**I have officially caved. After three years of reading other magnificent author's works upon this site, I've finally plucked up the courage to put pen to paper (or my fingers upon the keyboard) and upload a new story. This is the first chapter of a longer story that will deal with the fundamental ideas of Phantom of the Opera, but take a slight sidetrack to explore the other side of Christine and Erik's character. Enjoy! :) **

"Christine? Christine? Where are you?" A voice called from the doorway to the crumbly, dilapidated house that was known as home to Gustave Daae, a Swedish violinist whose fall from fame and subsequent ill-luck had led from one poor decision to another, and his only daughter, Christine.

"I am here father." The young girl of seventeen replied, tucking the loose tendrils of her dark chocolate curls that had come loose from their loose securing behind her ear, and depositing the scrubbing brush back into the pail of murky, soapy water, she stood, rubbing her hands on her apron before hurriedly exiting the room to greet her father.

"Christine, I expect my supper to be ready. Is it?" Gustave asked, his body swaying as he regarded his only daughter from watery, blood-shot eyes. The stench of alcohol and sweat clung to his clothing, and Christine had to fight back a wave of nausea as she approached him to take his coat and hat.

"Of course father. If you would please wash your hands, I shall go and serve dinner for you." She said, placing her father's belonging on the hook on the wall.

"Do not tell me what to do you little bitch." Her father roared, raising his hand as if to strike her.

"I am sorry father. Please.." She begged, her eyes wide with fear as she cowered beneath his penetrating gaze.

"Go. I cannot stand to look at you, you worthless little runt." Gustave spat, and avoiding his fist as she passed should he choose to attack, Christine quietly slipped into the kitchen, tears welling in her eyes. She could not stand to see her father in this state. It was the same each night. He would return to work, having stopped at the inn to drown his sorrow, and would return home late into the night drunk and violent, expecting Christine to fulfil his whims without objection for fear of his fists or a beating with his belt. It had been the same since her mother died three years ago, a time when her father had been loving and gentle and a world class violinist telling her stories of the Angel of Music and Little Lotte. But now, that was nothing more than a fleeting memory.

Wiping away her tears with the corner of her apron, she began with the task at hand, ladling the pitiful amount of meat and potato stew into a chipped and tarnished dish. Retrieving a knife, one of the very few items of value that they possessed, she began to hack at the stale, rock hard loaf, more curls springing loose in the process.

"Christine." Gustave Daae yelled, his voice reverberating around the few simple rooms of their lodgings. Although it pained her daily as to how far they had fallen from luxury and splendour afforded to her father's fame, they were luckier than most, who had to share one dismal room with several strangers in the foul, stinking slums of Paris.

"I am coming father." Christine replied, returning to her father in the main living area where the two of them also slept, her hands full of his supper and a mug of water that she had collected earlier from the communal pump.

" Here you are father. I hope it pleases you." She said, waiting for approval as she careful handed him his meal. Tearing off a huge chunk of the bread, he savagely swiped it into the stew and into his mouth, wolfing it down without properly chewing. It was wrong of her, she knew, but she sometimes prayed to God that one day he would choke on his bread and she would be liberated at last from the constant cycle of fear.

"Is it acceptable?" Christine ventured, hoping desperately that he would be satisfied and not beat her for her insolence. In reply, her father nodded once, her only acknowledgement for the hours she had spent slaving away before the stove, preparing a meal for him that would not ignite his fury.

"May I have some supper father?" She asked timidly. Once again, a nod served as a reply, and she quickly left the room, her stomach growling from lack of nutrition. She was afforded only one meal per day, except for the few small scraps she took here and there, for the little money that her father earned was spent primarily on his alcohol addiction and a poor second on food to feed him, without regard for his daughter. Retrieving the loaf of bread, she cut herself a chunk and a small slither from her father's lump of cheese. She dared not take more than that for the very real threat of punishment hung like a heavy raincloud over her young head. Carefully, so as not to damage her teeth on the unforgiving bread, she took a bite and slowly chewed, the muscles of her jaw aching with the exertion.

Suddenly, she stopped mid chew, her jaw slowly closing as she listened, her heightened senses tuning in to an occasional thud and muffled call. It was hard to tell where the noise was coming from, for the walls that divided their quarters from their neighbours were as thin as a sheet of cardboard as just as sturdy.

"Father. Father. Is everything alright?" She called, tensing for the expected harsh reply. Silence. With fear and dread in her heart, she swiftly walked into the adjoining room, but upon entering, overwhelming fear causing her to gasp, her hands flying to her mouth in horror.

" 'ello sweet-cheeks."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed or added this story to favourites! Just a warning, this chapter takes place several hours earlier than the last chapter, when Gustave Daae is at work and subsequently at the local tavern. Plus, you find out who greeted Christine in the last chapter! :)**

Life was hard. Gustave Daae, once renowned as being the finest violinist in the entire world, was reduced to transporting cargos on and off of ships that docked on the mighty Seine from all over the world, carrying spices from India, silks from Asia, sugar from the West Indies; delights once at his fingertips. How he longed for the days without worry or stress, when the world was easy and his beloved Charlotte was by his side, the light of his life and the joy of his heart. But now, the highlight of his pitiful life was the moment that the sweet nectar of alcohol touched his lips and oblivion engulfed him.

"Oi Gustave, you don't have time to daydream. Get back to work." His superior yelled from the gangplank, and with an inaudible grumble, he hoisted the crate of tea leaves onto his shoulder and departed from the blistering bowels of the ships hold into the blinding sunlight, his free hand shielding his eyes. It was more than his life was worth to drop to precious cargo into the murky, swirling depths of the Seine. Care was essential, despite the physical toll of the back-breaking, soul-crushing labour. How his parched mouth craved the bliss of alcohol.

Just as he deposited what must have been the two hundredth crate that day upon the quayside, the bell rang to signify the end of another tiring, twelve hour shift. Before departing the compound, Gustave collected his wages, his eyes glittering at the power he held in his hand. Hastily departing, he almost ran to the local inn that was situated a few minutes from the dock, 'Le Soleil Levant'; a tavern of questionable quality that was renowned as being the hub for illegal activity amongst the dock workers with pursuits such as opium, gambling and prostitution.

As he stepped inside the door, the sense of relief and almost unity overwhelmed Gustave. This was where he now belonged, amongst the poor and desperate, seeking a good time to forget the mind-numbing ennui of life. Taking his normal seat at the bar, he ordered a pint of beer, his eyes roving his sanctuary, falling upon the many prostitutes and their clients huddled together in the corners or brazenly in the act at the scattered tables, the pitiful creature slouched in their chairs, their opium pipes still emitting thin swirls of deadly smoke and the men gathered around a table, playing cards and gambling.

"'ere' you are" the inn keeper's wife heavily placed the tankard down on the bar, some of its amber contents spilling up over the sides. Gustave handed over a few coins, and wiping the rim on his already grimy sleeve, lifted to his lips and drank.

The hours seemed to fly as one after another foaming poison was ordered and quickly downed. It didn't take long for Gustave Daae to become completely inebriated. Fumbling with his pocket, he managed to draw loose the few remaining coins, certainly enough to place a few bets.

"Oi, let me through, I wanna play." He slurred, staggering from the barstool through the small crowds of people, roughly pushing them aside before slamming his hands down on the side of the table, his body swaying violently. He collapsed into the vacant chair, watched by the greedy, glittering eyes of the three other men playing and the crowd that had gathered to watch.

"Alright then sir, place down ya bets." The dealer said, shuffling his deck of cards and through unfocused eyes Gustave recognised him as one of the sailors that had docked at the port this morning. His hand shaking, Gustave threw down his few coins and the other players did likewise.

"Alright then, let's begin." The dealer said, and with that the cards were dealt and the game began.

Xxxxxx

"I have nothing left to give sir. You've got everything I 'ave." Gustave exclaimed with as much emphasis as could be expected of a man under the heavy influence of alcohol.

"Well sir, if you don't have nuffin', then you can't play." The dealer said, a malicious glint in his eye as he bared his yellow stumps that were once teeth.

"Monsieur, I place 1000 francs." Almost immediately, Gustave turned to study his gambling companion more closely. 1000 francs could ensure a better life for himself and an uncountable amount of pleasure. The table, being positioned in the corner of the tavern, meant that the man was cloaked in shadows and the light that streamed through the glass of the windows illuminated only the man's hands, which were encased in supple black leather gloves. Even in his intoxicated state, Gustave couldn't help but wonder what a man, who evidently was of aristocratic origin, was doing in such an establishment.

" 'ang on a minute. The only thing I have of value is my daughter. She's a real beauty. Ivory skin, dark chocolate curls, a gorgeous figure, never been touched by a man, I can assure you monsieur." Gustave said, thinking of his worthless daughter and the money. It was a decision that required little thought, and any guilt that resided in his chest would soon be forgotten with the embracing oblivion of alcohol. What's more, he had no intention of losing.

"I accept your offer monsieur. Let us play." And for the final time the cards were dealt and the game was played. And once more Gustave Daae lost his last remaining possession.

"Monsieur, I expect my prize." The man said, his voice like silk with a hint of danger.

"You can't have my daughter sir. She means the world to me. I've only just lost her mother. I can't lose her as well." Gustave said, a look of desperation in his bloodshot eyes. He hadn't been thinking clearly. The girl was of more worth to him than his alcohol addled brain could comprehend at that moment. Deep down, in a long buried recess within his heart, he still loved Christine dearly. But he had blown it on the sweep of a dealer's hand.

"Once a promise has been made, I do not let it go, monsieur." The cloaked man literally snarled. "I will collect my prize tonight. And you will not disobey me." Fear rooted Gustave Daae to the spot. He knew that he had gambled with the devil, and that blood would be spilt, his blood, if he didn't cooperate.

"Tonight then sir." Gustave stuttered, his knees shaking inside his oversized work trousers.

"Tonight." The man purred, and with swirl of his cloak, departed from the tavern. As the mysterious figure walked outside, a ray of moonlight fell upon his form, and from within the billows of his hood, a pure white mask glinted.

Xxxxx

"The master said we was to collect the girl from 'ere." The first man said, his face splitting into a maniacal grin at the idea of the beauty inside, the livid scar running from the corner of his right eye to the tip of his lip twisting and distorting. The other man nodded, placing a finger to his lips. He knew this neighbourhood well, had grown up here with his eight siblings and abusive father. It was a horrible place to be, and he knew that every word could be heard through the thin walls.

Creeping past the door, which was hanging off of its hinges and wide open, they snuck into the room, coming up behind the old man and the first man, the one with the scar that was leading the operation, clamped his hands over Gustave's mouth to prevent him from yelling and alerting his daughter.

"Father. Father. Is everything alright?" A young girl's voice called from the adjoining room, and the three men froze. At that moment, a young girl of about seventeen with loose chocolate curls and cherubic face entered the room. As she caught sight of the two men and her father, she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in horror.

" 'ello sweet-cheeks." The second man said, stalking towards Christine like a predator with its prey within its sight.

"You're a real beauty, ain't ya." He said, stepping behind her prone body to tuck her curls behind her ear and run his grimy fingers along her smooth, unblemished cheek. She flinched, her body shaking as he ran his other hands down her side and over the swell of her hips.

"Get your 'ands off her." Gustave yelled, breaking free from the confines of the first man's hands.

"Father, who are these men?" Christine whispered, her wide eyes seeking comfort and reassurance from her father.

"Didn't he tell ya beauty. He sold ya. Lost ya in a game of cards." The second man said, grinning revealing uneven, broken teeth.

"Is it true father?" Christine asked, the colour rushing from her cheeks. Her father only nodded, slowly, a look of almost guilt upon his aged face. She had known for a long time that her father despised her presence and resented her for the loss of his beloved wife, but she hadn't quite comprehended the extent to which his hate ran if he were capable to make a deal on his only daughter.

"You're coming with us sweet'eart." The second man whispered into her ear, rubbing his disgusting face into the softness of her curls. She cried out in protest and he grasped her hands behind her back painfully so that her shoulders ached, and tightly secured them with a piece of rope that chafed her delicate skin. The first man appeared before her, running the fingers of his left hand down her face before stuffing a gag into her mouth so that it pulled the skin of her lips and cheeks taught and a similar blindfold was tied over her eyes. She struggled against the two men, her muffled cries of despair echoing around the small room and falling on deaf ears. Once secured, a piece of linen was thrust beneath her nose. It was soaked in chloroform, the sweet, sharp tang of alcohol causing her to lose consciousness after a matter of seconds. As the world went black, her last waking though was of her father, not as he was now, but younger, more vivacious, when problems didn't weight so heavily upon his shoulders, welcoming her into oblivion with tales of the Angel of Music.

**Please read and review? :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the long delay. I spent the day in London watching the Royal pageant on the Thames. Anyway, enjoy! :)**

A gentle swaying motion brought Christine to her senses. She could hear a gentle lapping of water against what seemed to be a boat of some sort and the steady, continuous drawing of an oar through the water. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open. It was apparent that the blindfold had been removed for she could make out shapes, their edges blurry as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Squeezing her eyes shut, the colourful shapes dancing behind her lids, she opened them again.

"At last you are awake." A smooth, melodical voice greeted her from the shadows, and looking up, she noticed a man standing at the prow of the boat, an oar in hand, steering them through what appeared to be a huge, dark, swirling lake. She didn't dare to look over the side of the boat, her hands clenching the silken lining of the gondola.

"Where are we? Where are those two men that kidnapped me?" She croaked, her throat and mouth dry and rasping from having had a gag in her mouth. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, her lips dry and chapped as she ran her tongue over them to moisten them. Her eyes roved to the figure, his face angled away from her, from his powerful legs spread to steady himself over his cloaked back to his thick, dark hair.

"You are my property now. Those men simply do my dirty work. It is of no importance where we are. Oh, but mademoiselle, I will tell you that we are deep within in the earth and there is no chance of escape." The man snarled, adding emphasis to the futility of her situation, and Christine shrank back in horror. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she bowed her head, her thick curls acting as a curtain to shield her from her captor.

The boat soon rocked to a halt at a small wooden jetty that thrust out into the lake. Her mysterious captor leapt out of the gondola with almost cat like grace and agility and swiftly tied it to the mooring before proffering his hand with a flourish. She stood or shaky legs, the gondola rocking beneath her feet, and slowly grasped his hand, the cold supple softness of his leather glove meeting her warm, fleshy palm and she wrapped her small fingers around his long, bony ones for stability as she stepped out of the boat with as much lady-like decorum as was possible for her first every exiting of a boat.

"What is your name?" She asked, her feet now firmly planted on the stable ground as she removed her hand from his and smoothed down the pleats of her old, tattered and much patched dress. She became fascinated with his large, patent black shoes and the way that flickers of light, that seemed to emanate from the murky depths of the lake, reflected off of them.

"A more pertinent question, mademoiselle, would be enquiring as to what is your name?" The man said, his voice velvet soft but seeped in venom.

"Christine." She whispered, her cheeks flaming red. What was she to call her new captor? He had to have a name? Would it be impolite for her to call him monsieur and would he punish her for it? But surely not, for he had called her mademoiselle. Her mind reeled, and she gently bit her lip, deep in thought.

As though sensing her discomfort, the cloaked figure replied to her inner turmoil. "You may call me Angel, or monsieur if you would prefer." He added the latter almost as an afterthought, which only served to confuse Christine further. Lifting her gaze to his, she replied.

"I think I shall call you Angel, monsieur."

"Come then, Christine. I for one am cold standing here. Let us go inside."Almost at once, goose bumps appeared over Christine's bare arms, and she wrapped her arms around herself in the attempt of keeping warm. She could feel his eyes on her, his gaze penetrating, and she bowed her head. The man now known as Angel turned on his heel, striding along the short promenade. Christine followed meekly behind, her mind spinning. Who was this man with the name of Angel and what did he want with her?

Her captor stopped suddenly and she nearly collided with his back. Surely he had made a mistake, for before her eyes was a solid wall of rock. She was just about to protest when he drew a large, heavy looking gold key from his pocket that he forced into a small crevice that she had failed to notice and turning it, a door clicked open in the face of the rock. Surely she was still dreaming, under the oblivion of the chloroform, for inside the rocky facade was what appeared to be a somewhat luxurious, well furnished home.

"Do not just stand there gawping Christine." Angel said, waiting expectantly in the hallway, his arms firmly crossed across his chest in annoyance and breaking from her reverie, she slipped inside, standing awkwardly facing her captor.

"Angel, would you like me to hang your cloak up for you?" Christine asked, her eyes meeting his within the shadows of his hood, the message of submission ingrained within her to constantly please the superior male.

"No!" he snapped, his burning gaze boring into her, and she shrank back in horror, raising her hands to shield her face from the expected blow.

"Please Christine, just...leave me be." Angel said, as if all hope had left him, his body and persona seeming to close in on himself, shutting her off. She stepped forward, her hand out before her to reassuringly touch his shoulder, but before her flesh could connect with the thick, expensive material of his cloak, her jerked away from her, his cold, hard facade slipping back into place once again.

"Come Christine. I shall show you around." he said, turning abruptly on his heel and glancing over his shoulder, he guided her through his home

"This is the living room. Through there is the bathroom with a flushing toilet and a heated water system." Angel said, pointing to the room straight ahead of where there were standing. "Through that door is my room, and beside it my music room. "He said, pointing off to the left. "and to the left is the kitchen...and you're room." he said, pointing off to the left and Christine's eyes filled with wonder. A whole room to herself. She had long ago forgotten what it meant tint have something of her own. And now she had a whole room to herself!

"Oh Angel, thank you. I don't know how to express my gratitude. May I please see it?" Christine asked, her voice full of uncontrolled excitement. He slowly nodded, and she ran to the door, hastily turning the knob and stepping inside.

Words could not even begin to express the multitude of emotions that flooded Christine at that moment. It was...beautiful. There was a distinctly feminine aura to the room, infused with the delicate fragrance of rose and jasmine. The whole room was in pastel shades; from the ivory lace of the bed covers to the delicate pink trailing rose motif that covered the walls. The was a small shelf of books, a huge wing backed chair that she could curl up and read in and a little bedside table and lamp with a fine lace shade. A huge ornate wardrobe of pastel pink and gold leaf stood proud in one corner, and upon inspection, Christine discovered that it was full of ladies clothing, from draws to silky stoking, dresses for all seasons, fur shoals, coats, walking boots. The vast array left Christine breathless. 'He must have had a wife. 'She thought, trying to imagine the woman to whom these splendours had belonged. Whoever she was, she thought, she would have been far prettier than myself.

To reinforce this idea, she looked into the mirror of the vanity, she gasped in horror. How many more new experiences would she taste today? For the first time in her life, she could see her face looking back at her, for even when she was living a life of luxurious all those years ago, they had never had such an essential vanity item. The deep chocolate of her eyes enhanced the delicate tint of her cheeks and her full, rosebud lips and springy, spiral curls that were in desperate need of brushing. Whilst absentmindedly running her fingers through her curls, she glimpsed a shiny, silver hairbrush, a vapourizer filled with a deep amber liquid and a small silver container. Always a curious child, she opened the lid and discovered a powder puff and sweet smelling powder, although she had no clue as to how to apply it. Grasping the handle of the brush, she set about brushing out every knot in her wild curls, revelling in reminiscing of that other time when everything she wanted was hers.

Time seemed to fly away with her, and with a final stroke of the brush, the last knot was loosened and brushed out, leaving Christine with smooth, springy curls that fell loosely around her delicate face. 'For once in my life, I look quite pretty.' She thought, absentmindedly twisting one of her curls around her finger as she gazed at her reflection. It was at that moment that she remembered where she was. Biting her lip in worry, she quickly fled from the room.

"Angel? Angel? I'm sorry for letting the time slip by. Where are you?" She asked, hoping that he wouldn't be too angry with her. She could not cope with another beating, particularly as she had no clue as to her new captor's strength.

"In the kitchen Christine." He replied, his voice lacking any discernible form of emotion. She quickly walked into kitchen to be faced with his back, minus the thick woollen cloak, his head hidden by his hunched shoulders as he worked at something of which Christine couldn't see. He stood up straight, ensuring that his face was turned from her.

"I hope that you are partial to a cup of tea. I presume that you take it the English way, with milk or cream, although I am rather indulgent towards taking it the Russian way with only a slice of lemon." He said, and for the first time in the brief amount of time that she had known him, Christine was privy to another side of her captor; one that was of a more human nature and she smiled at the thought.

"You are most correct Angel. Although I have not had the pleasure of drinking tea in several years, due to my family's unfortunate situation, I still remember the distinct taste. I have always had a rather sweet tooth, and I would always request two, or sometimes three, sugar cubes. But even then my parents would never scold me and my request was indulged. "She said, staring intently at her new master, willing him to turn around and face her. She longed to have a proper conversation with him, to find out more about the man that had taken her from her home and away from her abusive father.

"Angel. Please, turn around." Christine said, a pleading note in her voice. She saw his shoulders hunch and his hands, that were spread on the counter, clenched and unclenched, the leather of his gloves stretching tight over the knuckles of his hands. She could hear his laboured breathing, and with a deep sigh, he turned around.

As soon as he had turned, and had raised his face to eyelevel, she wished that she hadn't asked. For in the place of flesh and blood, his whole face was covered with a pure white, thin stretched leather mask, his golden eyes flashing. Christine gasped in shock, the stark mask frightening her.

"Angel. I'm sorry. Please...please remove your mask. It's frightening me." She whimpered, her eyes refusing to meet his powerful orbs.

"Look at me." He roared, and shaking, she lifted her eyes to his; nervously tucking her thick curls behind her ears where they fell across her face. "You know nothing, you pathetic child. This frightens you." He leered, pointing at his mask. "I know something that will frighten little Christine more." He whispered, and with that, violently ripped the mask from his face, pulling his thick dark wig along with it and violently throwing it to the floor. She couldn't stop that scream of unadulterated fear that escaped her lips, for before her stood a living corpse.

His face was long and gaunt, his skin like yellow parchment tightly pulled across high cheekbones. His eyes, that blazing shade of golden, were sunken deep into his skull and there was a gaping black hole where his nose should have been. The hair, what little he had, was a sandy grey colour and in thin wispy clumps. She could not stand to look at him without fear of fainting.

"Oh angel." She whispered, fleeing from the room, her hands clasped over her ears to block out the almost animalistic howl of despair and rage that emitted from her captor, narrowly avoiding the teacup that Angel flung at the wall, tea and shards of porcelain flying everywhere, her eyes blurry with tears that streamed down her cheeks and she ran to her room, landing heavily upon her bed. She buried her face in her pillow, the scent of jasmine suffocating her, and choking back the tears, her mind roved to her father. She had long since accepted the fact that he no longer loved her, but she would give whatever she could to go back to him, to escape the man in the other room with the hideous deformity. The tears came thick and fast, and soon she fell into a deep, fitful slumber, resolving to find a way to escape from her gilded prison.

**Thank you for reading. Please review? :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry once again for the long delay, it's been a rather hectic week! Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed or added to favourites, it's really encouraging! :)**

**Oh, just a quick note. The story changes halfway through to deal with Gustave and how he's coping without his daughter and then switches back to the main story with Christine. I hope it doesn't cause too much confusion!**

**Anyway, Enjoy!**

She slept fitfully, tossing and turning in her waking nightmare as she tried to outrun beasts with bone white faces, snarling fangs and golden eyes stalking her in the darkness. A scream erupted from her rosebud lips and she sat up, panting heavily, her eyes roving the darkened room for signs of the hideous beasts. She slumped back against her pillows, her dark curls in disarray over the ivory pillow, trying to regain her erratic breathing and slow her racing heart.

"Christine!" She heard Angel yell from outside her door, and she sat bolt upright, clutching the lacy comforter to her chest. She prayed that he would not try to come in, for she could not stand to see his face again, even if he were wearing his terrifying mask.

"I am alright Angel. I had a nightmare, but I am alright now." Christine replied, throwing her legs over the side of her bed and readying to stand up should he decide to enter. Running shaking fingers through her tangled curls, she tried to steady her now laboured breathing, telling herself that she had nothing to fear and that he was only a man.

But that thought seemed to lodge in her mind. He was a man. And from what little she knew of men, they had only one need for a woman. She dreaded to think of what would happen to her, away from the world and solely at his mercy. She could not stay here any longer with such an immense risk hang over her.

"If you are sure Christine. It is late. You need your sleep." Angel called through the door, and she could hear his deep breathing. She wanted him gone so that she could think and plan her escape.

"I will retire now Angel. Good night." Christine answered, biting her nails in anxiety, examining their shell like appearance; the pale creamy pink with white tip. She splayed her hands across her old skirt and ran her nails up and down; anything to distract herself from her tumultuous thoughts.

"Pleasant dreams." She heard him whisper, and then his footsteps before a door was opened and closed and a distant violin could be heard, the sweet angelic notes flowing from the instrument. He was safety occupied. Taking a deep breath, she shaking exhaled and slowly removing her shoes, she padded to the door in her worn stockings. She pressed her ear to the door, listening for any sound that would indicate that Angel had left his music room. Thank fully, all she could hear was the violin's sweet song and the hasty scribbling of a quill. Sucking in a deep breath, she opened the door.

Standing in the doorway, she felt rather foolish. After the rush of exhilaration and thrill of the thought of escape, she felt rather deflated. What was she thinking? He was a powerful man and she, a weak young woman, was putting herself in danger by attempting to escape. How was she to cross the lake on her own? The thought of that deep, dark water was enough to make her knees shake.

Steeling her resolve and mentally scolding herself, she crept across the living room, stopping in the hallway to listen out for any sign that she had disturbed Angel or that he was aware, but straining her ears, she could only hear the continued melody. Now was her chance. He was absorbed in his music, his ears hearing nothing but the smooth succession of notes as they danced higher and higher, their pure music captivating.

Slipping to the door, she grasped the knob with both hands and twisted. Nothing. The door was firmly locked. Her face crumpled in disappointment, and trying again, she sighed heavily in annoyance. At that moment, she remembered the key that had opened the door. If only she could find it, then her plans for escape could be resumed.

Slumped down on the door, her skirts pooling around her ankles, she rested her head back against the thick wood, and closing her eyes in thought, she racked her brain for the key's location. She ran her fingers through her thick locks in concentration, her young brain spinning, before her fingers slowed in their movements and clasped around the two, small bobby pins that were secured in her hair. Suddenly, she remembered her childhood. She would play games with her mother where they were detectives and would have to hunt for clues behind locked doors and in small crevices. Together, they had learnt to open a door with a couple of bobby pins, and with a gasp of excitement, she jumped to her feet and began to try, praying that it would work.

After much twisting and jiggling of the bobby pins in the lock, the door clicked, the sound reverberating around the cavernous house. She stopped dead , holding her breath, hoping that Angel hadn't heard. Silence. She could hear nothing, not even the mellifluous notes of the violin, and her face turned white in horror. What was she to do? Should she stay where she was and hope that he would continue, or should she return to the living room and feign insomnia? She opted to stay where she was, nervously clenching and unclenching her hands in the rough material of her skirt, her breathing loud and the sound of her thundering heart pounding in her ears.

The seconds seem to slow, like thick, dark treacle, and what couldn't been more than a minute felt like several hours and she stood there, knees quacking in fear, dreading the moment that Angel would find her and punish her. Just when she thought her heart would burst out of her chest, she heard the sweet, longed-for notes of the violin and could do little but collapse against the sturdy door, overwhelmed with gratitude. She remained prone against the door for a few minutes, her breathing returning to normal, and then plucking up the courage, she slowly opened the door and left her lavish prison, silently closing the door behind her.

She couldn't believe it. She had escaped. Running along the jetty, she slowly stepped into the gondola, the boat rocking as she did so, and she lowered herself onto the cushioned velvet seat, grasping the oar in both hands. She had absolutely no idea as to how to operate the boat, but began thrusting the oar through the water, trying to imitate the way she had seen Angel do it the day before. As she slowly got to grips with the continued motion and the need for stability, having to stand up and spread her legs to equally balance the boat, her thoughts turned to her father.

Xxxx

(Gustave Daae)

Sprawled in a pool of his own vomit, he lay unconscious on the floor of the tavern. Without Christine, the majority of his day was spent amongst the company of other men, the stench of alcohol, blood, urine and sweat were the sweetest of perfumes to him. In his alcohol oblivion, his mind wandered to his daughter, Christine. He didn't know if it was the alcohol that had muddled his brain, or it were the truth, but deep down he knew that he missed Christine and needed her. He should never have gambled her away; she was too precious to him.

"Christine." He groaned and his bloodshot eyes cracked open, the brightness of the dim light piercing his eyes, his head pounding. He struggled to sit up, wiping the vomit from around his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. His mouth with bone dry and tasted revolting, his tongue thick and furry in his parched mouth. He craved another cool beer. Clambering to his feet, he leaned heavily against a nearby chair, swaying as he gained his balance. He had to find his daughter.

" 'scuse me. 'Scuse me." He slurred, his eyes drifting closed as he tried to gain the attention of his fellow drinkers. " 'ave any of you seen my daughter. She's young, pretty, with long dark curly hair and dark eyes." He said, struggling to picture his only child. Nobody replied, but there was much muttering and shaking of heads. He simply couldn't do nothing. He would have a couple more drinks and then search for his daughter. If it was the last thing that he did, he would find her.

"Oh Christine." He mumbled into his tankard, and quickly down the deep amber contents.

xxxx

'What am I doing?' Christine whispered to herself, struggling to manoeuvre the boat. In reality, manning the boat on her own was a lot more difficult that she had imagined. Every time the oar struck the water, the boat would tip perilously and she had to scramble to the other side to right it again. Every stroke she took, she would turn to see if she had been rumbled by her captor, dreading to see his figure upon the shore, but she time she saw nothing but shadows.

Although she resented the man who had taken her from her father and locked her away in an underground home, away from the light that she so craved, she could not bear the thought of him discovering her gone. Fear crept into her heart, and guilt made her stop in her motions. She should turn around, gone back into the house and pray that Angel had not discovered her absence. She would learn to accept her new life, like every other change that had occurred in her short life, and come to respect and appreciate the care with which she was bestowed by her companion.

But this newfound resole was crumbled by another part of her consciousness which reminded her that she was no longer a child and was instead a young woman who should be independent and should strengthen her resolve and do what she wanted for once rather than answer to the beck and call of any man who should claim her as his possession, which is what she was; first of her father and now of the man known to her as Angel. She told herself she would leave her confines and break free from the shackles of oppression and make something of herself.

Her movements had slowed whilst she was deep in thought, and as she resumed the steady circular motion of the oar through the deep, dark water, she saw a faint glowing from the depths of the lake. The faint golden glow seemed to grow and spread, enclosing the boat in a shimmering, brilliant light. A sound, like the purest of gold and the sweetest of seraphic notes, emanated from the murky depths, and enveloped Christine in a shroud of wonder. She stopped her actions and sat down in the silky lined interior, her eyes glazing over as she fell under the spell of the music. The music was too angelic to be human. She had heard tales from her childhood of beautiful sea creatures, mermaids and sirens, with ethereal beauty and voices like a host of angels that lured sailors to their death of the rocks. The rational part of her brain told her to ignore the sound and to continue her escape, but the overwhelming though that resonated through her brain was to sit and enjoy the music, to let it caress her and overwhelm her senses entirely.

Suddenly, there was a splash behind her, and quickly turning, she caught sight of a dark shadow rising to the surface. She stared, transfixed. Before she could move, an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her backwards into the water. She struggled against the arm, her little fingers desperately clawing at the limb that was tight around her middle, holding her under. Her eyes, wide with fright, became blurry as the dark, dirty water entered her eyes, but before the last bit of oxygen left her lungs, she turned her head to the left in her struggle and caught sight of a glinting white mask, winking at her in the darkness. As the breath bubbled from between her lips, her vision went black and she collapsed against the body enclosing her.

**Thank you for reading. Please review :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Just a heads-up; two different characters will be talking at the same time; one will be in bold and the other in italics. I hope it doesn't cause any confusion!**

Images flittered behind her eyelids, their colours distorted and forms blurred and indistinguishable. Her eyes rolled beneath their lids and the images changed and became more recognisable. Her father, in the time when he was a world class violinist and the signs of age did not mar his body, and herself, running in the cornfields surrounding her home with a young man with shoulder length blonde hair that shimmered in the sunlight like spun gold. The image shifted and she was now sat under the boughs of an apple tree, their arms laden with succulent fruit, as the young man and Christine laughed in the late afternoon sun.

The conscious part of her brain searched desperately, trying to find the name in the recesses of her mind to fit the handsome young face. 'R' her mind screamed at her, but failed to form the rest. She could remember the young man, his kind and caring nature and the way that he would always think of her before himself. She remembered the feelings of first love, the whispered words of affection as they basked in the rays of adolescence, their betrothment strengthening their ties of adoration.

"_I promise I will..._

**Christine!** Someone was calling her name. She tried to answer, to open her mouth and reply, to let them know that she was alright, but she simply couldn't form the words

_be the perfect ..._

**Answer me Christine! **

_Husband. I will love_

**Christine, don't give up!**

_you forever."_

**Christine!**

Suddenly, her eyelids fluttered open, blinking rapidly to grasp her surroundings. She was in her room, tucked up in the smooth cotton embrace of the cool embroidered sheets. She was face to face with a man, his tanned skin the colour of olive and his deep brown eyes soulful and compassionate. Behind him stood Angel, fear and worry painted in his golden eyes, his hands clasped nervously in front of him. Her dress felt light against her body, the confines of the corset less restricting, and glancing under the covers she noticed, to her horror, that she was dressed in night garments; a long cotton gown with pretty lace frilled around the collar. She blushed in embarrassment, the thought of Angel seeing her in her undergarments making her cheeks flame red.

"Who are you?" Christine rasped, her eyes wide with panic, seeking Angel's for reassurance. She didn't like the idea of this strange man examining her whilst she was unconscious.

"Good afternoon madmoiselle. Please forgive my discourteousness. My name is Nadir Khan and I am a friend of Er...Angel. We met a long time ago in Pers..." The man said, his strong Arabic accent overwhelming her already confused mind.

"Do not overwhelm her Nadir." Angel growled, his eyes piercing Nadir, although unlike Christine he didn't shrink under Angel's penetrating gaze.

"How are you feeling mademoiselle?" Nadir asked, resting a cool hand against her forehead. She shivered involuntarily, squirming further beneath the covers tucked tight beneath her chin.

"I'm alright I suppose. I am dreadfully tired and my head is pounding." Christine whispered, shutting her eyes against the brightness of the light.

"It is not a surprise Christine. You swallowed a lot of water and you've been unconscious for 24 hours." Angel said, stepping further into the room to stand at the foot of her bed.

"I think it best if you are confined to bed rest for at least a day to fully recover. I will get Angel to wait on you hand and foot for your every need." Nadir said, and shot a glance at Angel who glared at him.

"Thank you monsieur." Christine said and turned to face the wall, willing both Nadir and Angel to leave her alone. She had been so close to escaping, she could almost taste freedom. And then...everything was black. She couldn't remember the time between sitting in the boat, steering her way across the murky depths and lying here in bed, overwhelmed and exhausted.

"If that is all then, Angel, I will take my leave. Should you require my assistance again, do not hesitate to call." Nadir said as Angel escorted him out of Christine's room, and with a glance back in Christine's direction, Angel closed the door behind them both. She could hear the two men talking through the wood of the door, although she couldn't make out what they were saying.

With a sigh, she let her heavy eyelids flutter closed and let dreams embrace her once again.

xXx

She awoke again several hours later, the pounding of her headache having disappeared with the comforting embrace of sleep. She rubbed her eyes and stretched, feeling her tired muscles contracting. Fumbling in the darkness, she managed to open the drawer of the bedside table and retrieved a box of matches. Striking the match against the strike –strip and watching the match flare to life, the hypnotic flame flickering, she lit the candle that rested on the side table and looked at the time on the clock, its little hands noting the passing of the minutes in the continued span of time that lapsed in Angel's home. 5 o'clock. Silently counting the hours on her fingers, she realised that it was early morning. Too early to rise but too late return to dreams.

Her mouth was bone dry, her tongue heavy in her mouth. She needed a glass of water. Pulling back the covers, she slipped her feet over the edge of the bed and rose to her feet, her legs weak from lack of use. Blowing the candle out and plunging the room into darkness, she padded over to the door, her hands out, searching, to find the door knob. Grasping the metal knob with both hands, she twisted it slowly and carefully opening the door, hoping that it wouldn't make a sound, she stepped out into the living room and padding on silent feet entered the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the fresh running water system.

Deciding to return with it to her room for the chill of Angel's home was causing goose bumps to rise on her arms; she slipped out of the kitchen and across the living room, praying that Angel hadn't heard her night-time activity.

" Christine." She heard and gasping, nearly spilling her water in the process, she turned to the source of the noise. In an armchair by the fire she could make out the shadowy profile of Angel, the reflection of the fire causing his golden eyes to glow.

"Oh Angel, you startled me." Christine said breathless, trying to slow her racing heart. She stood awkwardly in her doorway, wondering whether she should return to bed or go and sit with her captor.

"Christine. Come and sit with me." Angel said, and Christine could almost sense a hint of almost desperation and longing in his voice. Breathing deeply to calm her nerves, she slowly walked over to Angel and sat in the other armchair, facing her Angel, taking a small sip of water.

"Why did you do it Christine?" Angel asked wistfully, staring intently at the fire as the flames leapt within the grate, their orangey yellow colour reflecting off of the stark porcelain of his mask.

"What do you mean Angel?" Christine asked innocently, her eyes roving the pleats of the skirt of her nightgown. She refused to look at him, her heart beating painfully against her chest and she sat on her hands to stop them shaking.

"Don't play with me Christine. Why did you try and escape from me? I have offered you everything that you could ever want and you choose to betray me. Do not forget that you are my property now, Christine. If I have to lock you in your room, do not think that I will not." Angel said, steepling his fingers on his chin, his shoulders tense beneath the fine wool of his frock-coat.

"I am so sorry Angel. I pray that you will forgive me. I have dreamed my whole life of freedom and I wanted to taste it for myself." She explained, her cheeks flaming red from the glow of the fire. She had no other way of explaining her need for independence. She peaked a glance towards Angel, gauging his reaction, but his face remained firm, his eyes fixed upon the flames.

" Thank you for saving me Angel." She whispered, lifting her gaze to study his profile.

" Erik." He breathed, his eyes studying the movement of his hands up and down his thighs.

"I'm sorry Angel. I don't understand." Christine replied, her mind running wild. She took a shaky sip of water and shifted in her seat, tucking her feet up beneath her. The heat of the fire was making her feel rather dozy and she relaxed against the firm back of the large armchair, her head lolling against the cushy fabric.

"My name is Erik." Angel said, and Christine smiled. She tested the name upon her tongue. Erik. Like the man, it was dark and mysterious and seemed to fit him like a second skin.

"An..I mean Erik. What purpose do you have with me? I am nothing and you are a...man." Christine stated, stumbling over her words, her mind numb with exhaustion. Erik smiled, for the corners of the mask lifted the barest millimetre.

"What a wonderful observation Christine. But I am not a whole man. My heart is withered and black and my soul is lacking of light. Until you arrived, thrust into my life by the dealings of the cards by the hands of fate and suddenly I have a purpose to my life. I am under no illusion that you would wish to remain here with me, but I will strive to provide you with a comfortable life, for I shall teach you to sing with a voice that will be the envy of the angels." Erik proclaimed, turning to face Christine, his golden eyes dancing and sparkling with a new-found joy. Christine un-tucked her feet and leant forward, close enough that she could reach out and touch his face.

"Oh Erik." She whispered, words failing her, and bridging the gap between them, laid her slim hand against the cool porcelain of his cheek. He leaned in to her touch, relishing it like a cat. He slowly pulled away and rose to his feet, his eyes trained on hers.

"It is late Christine. A young beautiful girl like yourself needs to get as much sleep as she can. Goodnight."He murmured, his sensual voice, combined with his close proximity, overwhelming her senses, and slowly running a cool bony finger over the swell of her soft cheek, he resumed his seat, clasping his hands together and leaning closer towards the fire, his eyes closed as if deep in thought.

"Good night Erik." Christine whispered, glancing back over her shoulder at Erik's tense figure. She walked back to her door, glass of water firmly clasped in her hand, and as she shut the door she sighed deeply.

" Erik."

**Thank you for reading. Please review :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Just one quick note. Nobody seemed to notice that the blonde haired youth of Christine's unconsciousness was Raoul! Anyway, he will play a part in the next few chapters, so just a warning! Oh, and Gustave's back! :)**

Slumped over his empty tankard in a state of alcoholic oblivion, images of Christine raced through Gustave's mind. Christine as a little girl, loose, wild curls escaping from her pigtails as she proudly opened her chubby little palm to proudly display her catch; a fine, delicate butterfly with wings like silk to the touch. Then another of Christine as an older child, following the death of his beloved sweetheart Charlotte, nursing him back to health with bowls of steaming soup and displays of affection. He needed his daughter, more than he needed the mind-numbing nirvana brought upon by the sweet amber nectar of alcohol.

'Raoul'. The name spun through his consciousness, and trying desperately to fit a face to the name, it clicked. Raoul was Christine's betrothed. They were childhood sweethearts, brought together by loving parents and the desire held by both for a playmate to run with in the sunshine and pass the fleeting years of youth. He decided to seek him out, for the young noble had money to spare and an influence that came with ennoblement. Gustave was positive that Raoul would be more than willing to help in the search for his fiancée and return her to her loving father, despite the years of separation between Christine and Raoul. Perhaps pity for their current financial situation would encourage the Viscount de Chagny to be more willing to aid, he thought, his head pounding with thought and intoxication. But one problem remained. How was he to find the Viscount?

" 'scuse me. Does anyone know where the Viscount de Chagny lives?" Gustave slurred, banging his tankard against the table to gain the attention of the other drunkards drinking and gambling in the smoke filled, unwashed -body smelling hovel.

"Aye. He lives on the Avenue Victor Hugo. You'll know it's the de Chagny residence 'cause there're two 'uge lions on the gate posts." A voice from the masses called, and muttering his thanks, Gustave stumbled out of the tavern.

xXx

The man had been right, for before his eyes were two lions, standing proud upon the limestone gateposts, their empty stares and sharpened teeth testing the courage of the visitant. The heavy wrought iron gates barred his entry and temporarily stunted his plans. Lifting his arm, he sniffed his jacket. He stank. He hadn't been home in a week and he smelt like alcohol and stale urine. There was no way that he would be allowed entrance to the prestigious home of the de Changys. What was he to do?

His eyes roved his surroundings, searching for a way to sneak in. Bingo. His eyes landed upon a gap within the thick, tall hedge that surrounded the estate, just wide enough for his slim frame. His eyes darting from side to side to ensure that nobody was around, he snuck through the gap, stumbling past the outstretched branches to collapse on the other side. His eyes widened in wonder. A sweeping driveway let up to the front of the house, an impressive solid stone creation with detailed turrets and lintels and two stone staircases leading up to the front entrance. At the front of the house stood a wide fountain with a nymph holding a jug jumbling water onto fat carp that swum lazily in the late afternoon heat.

His eyes widen as realisation dawned on him. What on earth was he to do now? He had no plan of action, his bravado having worn off and reality crushed him. Rubbing his temples in concentration, attempting to clear the remaining fog of alcohol that had veiled his thoughts, he spied a figure in the distance walking amongst the formal gardens, with shoulder-length blonde hair and bright sky-blue eyes, and cursing to himself, he ducked behind a conveniently situated statue-plinth.

'That man is Raoul' was the thought that crossed his mind, and taking a deep breath, he stealthily crept up behind Raoul.

"Excuse me monsieur. Are you the Viscount de Chagny?" He asked, touching Raoul on the shoulder to make him turn.

"Christ! Who are you? What are you doing here? I will call my brother." He asked threateningly, his hand rising to his chest in shock before tightening at his sides menacingly.

"Do you not remember me monsieur? My name is Gustave Daae. You were engaged to my daughter Christine." He said, praying that he would remember him. He needed Raoul's help to find Christine. Desperately.

"Gustave Daae...I remember your name." Raoul muttered, running his hand through his silky blonde hair.

"Christine!" He gasped, his eyes meeting Gustave's. "I remember her. How is she? Is she well? It's been so long! What happened to you?" He asked, taking in the bedraggled sight of the man before him.

"We've fallen upon hard times. Money doesn't come as easily as it used to. But that's not why I'm here. I need your help to find Christine..." Gustave began, narrating the events to Raoul, watching a range of emotions flickering across the younger man's face.

"How could you do that to your only daughter?" Raoul asked, exasperated, anger lacing his tone, once Gustave had finished narrating his tale.

"I was desperate monsieur. I did not mean to. I needed the money. You do not know what it is like to have to decide between food and warmth. But will you help me viscount?" He asked pleadingly, tapping his fingers against his leg as he waited for Raoul's response.

"I will help you find Christine, monsieur, but I do it not for you but for her. I loved her, monsieur, and I want to know that she is safe and well. We will start by you telling me what you know of this man..." Raoul said, and Gustave launched into his description, thanking God for granting him one reprieve.

xXx

(Christine)

The next morning, all signs of the previous day's exertions had disappeared, and upon waking Christine realised that she was confined to her bed for the day. With a huff of annoyance, she sat up in bed to collapse back against the pillows again, a wave of giddiness overcoming her. Clearly she wasn't quite fully recovered.

"Good morning Christine. Are you awake?" Erik called to her through her door, his melodical voice soothing her head, and she replied her assertion, tucking the covers up to her chin in expectance of his entering.

"May I come in? I bring breakfast." He said, and tucking her curls behind her ears, she settled back against the pillows as the door to her room opened and Erik entered, the smell of fresh delights assaulting her sense of smell.

"It smells delicious." She said, as Erik placed the tray down on her lap, pulling the covers taught so as not to be stained or touched by the food.

"Erik. I cannot eat all of this." Christine stated amazement shining in her eyes as she took in the whole array of food on her lap. Freshly baked rolls, creamy salted butter, boiled eggs, sausages and slices of bacon and a selection of fruit preserves. She simply didn't know where to start.

"Do not worry. Only eat what you can manage. You need to regain your strength." Erik said, standing awkwardly beside her bed, gazing down upon her with turmoil in his golden orbs.

"Perhaps you could share with me? I have more than enough to feed two." She questioned, picking up her knife and beginning to butter a warm roll.

"No. Thank you. I...cannot. Enjoy your breakfast. I will make you a drink. Eat up." Erik said, and Christine could almost detect a hint of longing. The way his eyes were trained upon her, watching her every movement, she could tell that he longed to sit with her and share in her delight. But his mask stood as a barrier between them.

"Alright." She whispered, as Erik left the room, and spreading a lay of raspberry jam upon her role, she took a bite.

Swallowing her last mouthful, she licked her lips clean of any trace of preserve just as Erik walked into the room, a steamy cup of tea held within his hands. Her tongue halted in its action. His eyes were upon her, his pupils dilate as he watched her tongue, his own mirroring hers, and she quickly withdrew it, her eyes falling to her hands as her cheeks flooded red in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry." Erik stuttered, shifting from foot to foot in her doorway, the cup clasped firmly within his hands, his knuckles turning white. Christine lifted her eyes to his and smiled, beckoning for him to come and sit near her.

He placed the cup within her waiting hands, his cool palms resting against her hands longer than was strictly necessary, and retreating to the corner, he moved a chair closer to her bed. Christine shifted in bed, angling her body towards him.

"Thank you, for the tea. It's wonderful." She said, taking a sip of the steaming liquid, her eyes trained on him as Erik sat awkwardly, crossing one long leg over the other, and the corner of his lips twitched.

" You are very welcome. I know very little about women, but I am quite adept at guessing a woman's taste for sweet things. Cream and sugar make the most wonderful addition to tea, so I hear." He said, his hands fisting in the frilly edges of her duvet cover. Silence befell them for a moment, before Christine lifted her gaze to Erik's, her hand sliding to fit over his.

"Erik. Can you tell me a story?" Christine asked innocently, her thumb rubbing a gentle soothing pattern on the back of his hand.

"Of course my dear. Now let me think. Oh yes, I shall tell you the tale of the nightingale and the white rose." Erik said, removing his hand from below Christine's to gently squeeze her hand before return it to his lap.

"There was once a beautiful nightingale with the pretties of songs who would sing each evening for the returning call of her love. One night, she caught sight of the beautiful of white roses that she had ever seen and she fell deeply in love. But she had been forbidden by Allah to love any but another of her kind. But for the little bird, love was too strong and she flew down towards the white rose, its beauty and scent calling to her. The nightingale, however, had failed to notice the rose's thorns, and as she flew closer, the spines pierced her little body and her bright crimson blood dropped upon the pure white petals and turned them to the deepest shade of red. Out of love, a new rose had been born that would be the epitome of love." Erik said, his sensual, melodical voice encasing Christine in a cocoon of fuzzy warming feeling.

"It's a beautiful story Erik. But it's sad that the nightingale had to die from love." Christine said, and saw Erik momentarily stiffen.

"I heard it a long time ago in a faraway place. I think it quite poignant. That one would sacrifice one's life for love.." Erik muttered, trailing off as his hand slid up and down his thigh. Christine's eye followed the movement of his hand as the story and its meaning sank in. Whilst in though, out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a large black shape with eight long, spindly legs crawling across her fine Persian carpet and let out a shriek in terror.

"Whatever is the matter Christine?" Erik asked, worry in his eyes.

"There's a sp..spi..spider." Christine stuttered, her hand shaking as she extended her arm to point it out to him.

"A spider is nothing to fear Christine. It means you no harm." Erik affirmed, crouching down to enclose the creature within his shell of his long bony fingers.

"Please, just kill it." She stammered, her arms wrapped around her body as she quacked in terror.

"You want me to kill it? Oh...I don't mind at all. I rather think the spider might have one or two objections to make, but then, after all, it is only a spider isn't it? Just a mindless, soulless, ugly thing that has no right to live and frighten people!" Erik growled, anger simmering in his voice as he tightened his hands around the arachnid at his mercy.

"I'm sorry Erik. It scares me." Christine exclaimed, praying that Erik would dispose of the creature so her mind could be laid to rest and she could relax once more.

"I have often thought I would have been quite happy as a spider. Even a spider has the right to a mate." Erik whispered, more to himself than to her, and with a flash of rage, he crushed his hands together, obliterating the long-limbed creature to a pulp. Opening his palm, he intentionally displayed them to Christine, muttering 'much better' before retrieving a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping the sin from his hands, turning the pure white linen to a sickly green.

"Is Christine happy now? Does she enjoy killing pitiful creature? I too am a pitiful, hideous creature. Would you rather that I were dead also?" He asked, a maniacal gleam in his eye that caused Christine to shake more violently that the idea of the intrusive spider.

"Of course not Erik." Christine affirmed, leaning back until she was pressed against the wall as Erik slowly approached her.

"Erik. Please leave. You are frightening me." She pleaded, her eyes wide as she clutched her bed sheets to her chest.

"I will go. Erik will listen to his Christine. But be sure to bolt the door once I am gone." And spinning on his heel, he swept from the room, pausing at the doorway to glance back at her, emotion flashing in his eyes.

She hastily ran to the door and bolted it, her little fingers shaking as the bolt slid into place, and she ran back to bed, collapsing against her pillows as tears poured from her eyes to splash steadily against her pillows.


	7. Chapter 7

(Christine)

A rumbling stomach awoke her from her tortured dreams. Languidly stretching her limbs, Christine sat up in bed, pulling the frilly covers to her chest as she yawned deeply, her hands flying to her stomach as it growled loudly. Wondering whether she should call Erik and then deciding against it, she slowly swung her legs over the edge and stood on shaky legs, slipping on the lacy dressing gown that hung behind her door. She paused before she left her room, transfixed by her reflection. Looking like an angel in virginal white, she looked ethereal with her long loose curls messily spilling over her shoulders and framing her delicate doll-like face. Her eyes roving her form, she blushed prettily. She had no idea how transparent her current attire was. Her feminine curves were highlighted by the flickering of the candles that illuminated Erik's home and sensuously cast their golden glow upon her shapely figure. At that moment, she recalled the numerous times she had seen Erik observing her, his eyes wide and fixed upon her until she happened to catch his gaze and he lowered his, and her cheeks tinged a deeper shade of beetroot. Shakily running a hand through her curls, she clutched the fine material closer around her body, and with the rumbling of her stomach audible in her ears, she left her room in search of food.

Silently walking across the living room, she entered the kitchen, clutching her stomach with one arm as she rifled through the cupboards, desperately searching for nourishment.

"Christine." Spinning around, a sheepish look on her face, she faced Erik, dressed in black slacks, white shirt open at the neck and rolled up to his elbows and a deep gold waistcoat that brought alive the spark in his eyes.

"I'm..I'm sorry Erik. I was...I was looking for something to eat." Christine said, her eyes focused on the swirls and patterns that winked in the flickering candle-light.

"Do not stutter Christine." He scolded, and Christine bowed her head, her curls falling like a thick curtain between them to hide her blazing cheeks.

"I'm sorry Erik." She whispered. Erik grasped her face gently within his hand and brought her gaze to his, her eyes looking deep into his.

"Do not apologize Christine. You have nothing to be sorry for." And swiping his cool fingers gently against her heated cheek, he brushed past her and began removing items from the cupboards around her.

"You must eat Christine. I am sorry that I have been remiss in my role. Are you partial to cake?" He asked, filling a kettle and placing it to boil on the hob, and she nodded her head enthusiastically.

"Oh yes. I love it. Thank you Erik." Christine said, and smiled for the first time in many hours.

"Please, do go and take a seat Christine. You must be weary. I can manage, honestly. Rest your sleepy head." Erik said, a gently guiding her arm, he lightly pushed her out of the kitchen, making small shooing gestures playfully.

"Alright Erik." Christine said, and turning to smile at Erik, she left the kitchen and relaxed onto the chaise longue sofa, arranging the skirts of her garments, her mind wandering over the events of the morning.

At that moment, Erik entered, carrying yet another tray laden with huge chunks of chocolate cake, more rolls, a strong, pungent brie and a teapot and cups and saucers. Her mouth watering, she waited as Erik placed the tray down and filled a plate with cake, roll and cheese and handing it to her along with a knife, he began to make the tea. She smiled as he handed her a steaming cup with cream and sugar and took his seat next to her, a saucer of tea held within his hands.

"Erik, I am sorry for earlier. I should not have reacted the way that I did. It was wrong of me to ask you to kill the spider and I am sorry." Christine said, taking a sip of tea, regarding his over the rim of her cup.

"Christine, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for." And taking a sip of his tea, he returned it to the tray.

"I must explain myself though. It is difficult for me to speak of this, but I have a reason behind my despising and fear of spider. You see, it was a long time ago and I was living in the true happiness of youth with both my mother and father. We were on holiday in the Netherlands. It was wonderful. We basked in the golden rays of the sun. That is until my mother became ill. She was bitten by a spider. She died within a few days in agony and there was nothing we could do to save her, although my father tried everything. I've been terrified of them since." Christine said, her voice softening as tears filled her eyes. As if on cue, Erik proffered a handkerchief and she accepted it willingly, dabbing at her eyes gently.

"Oh Christine. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. If I had known..." Erik trailed off, and glancing at him, she could see that his eyes were distant and glistening. Taking her hands within his own, he held them to his chest, pressing a kiss to her palm. She could feel his heart beating through the material of his waistcoat and the steady thud was reassuring to her. She smiled to herself, thanking the Lord that at last she had found someone to care for her. She had shared a very deep, personal moment with Erik and couldn't have been happier to do so. The walls that had been built between them had momentarily disappeared and Christine was privy to Erik's sensitive, weaker side. Progress had been made.

"It was a long time ago. But I miss her terribly." Christine murmured, her eyes wandering Erik's porcelain face.

"I never knew a mother's love." Erik breathed, his fingers dancing in the frilly material of Christine's lacy wrap.

"Oh Erik." Christine sighed, lightly squeezing Erik's hand reassuringly.

" My mother detested the sight of me. My father died before I was born and so of course she hoped that I would be born an exact replica of her beloved husband. But then I was born and reality hit and she realised that he beloved Charles had left her forever as she was instead left with the Devil's child. The first and only gift she ever gave me was a leather mask. I was never allowed to remove it and when she had guests, I was locked away in my rooms. She was ashamed of me. I was her dirty secret and so I ran away just before my twelfth birthday..." Erik stated, breaking off as he noticed that Christine had tears pouring down her cheeks.

"Oh God Erik. I am so sorry." Were the only words that Christine could form. She could barely form coherent thoughts, so stunned and thoroughly distressed by Erik's tale.

"Oh Christine, I didn't mean to upset you. You are too beautiful to be saddened by the tale of a monster. I am not deserving of love. It is I who should be crying for you, having to live without a mother. You deserve love Christine. You are a creature of light and love and I am a monster confined to the shadows..." He was broken off my Christine placing a slim finger to the lips of his mask to silence him.

"Do not say such things Erik. You deserve love Erik. A mother's love should be unconditional and I am enraged that a woman could not love her only son simply because of his physical attributes." The tears making steady paths down her cheeks.

"I have lived too long without love Christine. I am accustomed to it. Please Christine; I implore you not to spill fruitless tears for me." Erik beseeched, and Christine took his large hand in her little one.

"I will be here for you Erik. As long as you need me." Christine said, and shifted closer to Erik's hard body, sculpting hers to mould against his so that her head lay on his shoulder, his hand in hers.

xXx

(Raoul)

Unaware of Christine's current happiness, Raoul continued on his walk around the estate, his mind spinning with conflicting thoughts. What was he to do? He wanted to help, of course he did for in his youth Christine had been the girl of his dreams; he had loved her with all of his youthful heart and had intended to spend the rest of his life with her. But where was he to start? Paris was a metropolis; from the suburbs of the elite to the twisting alleyways of the rabbit warren that constituted the slums. He knew that she could be anywhere in the city, perhaps no longer even with the whole of France, but he had a starting point; Le Soleil Levant tavern.

Several hours later, Raoul was stood outside the tavern, his eyes warily surveying his surroundings. He felt uncomfortable, standing out against the grain even in his oldest clothes which, although several seasons old, were still of finery quality than the majority in this neighbourhood could ever dream of.

"Looking for a good time sailor?" Said one of the many prostitutes, huskily, that stood loitering outside the tavern waiting to sell their wares. She ran her grimy hand up the length of his arm, and he turned, his sense of smell overwhelmed by the foul stench of alcohol and unwashed body.

"No thank you." He said, moving his shoulder to brush her hand off and striding into the tavern, he ignored the cackle of laughter emitted from the gaggle of women.

Marching into the room, he was confronted by the overwhelming absurdity of the situation. He did not belong in a place like this, where men drank away their wages with a succession of foaming pint glasses and women sold themselves for money. He knew nothing about this sort of life. He was a target and he should leave before he found himself at the mercy of a knife pressed to his windpipe.

"Can I help you monsieur?" A voice called from the crowd, and scanning the sea of faces he noticed a man, most likely the landlord, standing behind the bar cleaning glasses as he eyed Raoul almost predatorily.

"I'm looking for a man monsieur." Raoul called, and was soon overwhelmed by the eruption of raucous laughter.

" A man monsieur? Well I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place here, although I do know a great place where a man can indulge in that sort of fantasy." Said one man, grinning like a cat to reveal a mouth full of blackened stumps.

"What I mean to say is I've come in search of a particular man. Perhaps you will be of assistance?"

**Sorry to leave on a cliff-hanger. Thank you so much for reading! Please review? :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. They're all really encouraging and it's really nice to know that there actually are people out there enjoy my work. So thank you! :)**

(Raoul)

His enquiry was getting him nowhere. Whether because he was a noble and they felt that he didn't belong amongst their close ranks, asking probing questions and demanding answers, or because they were simply as dim-witted and ignorant as they looked, Raoul could not be certain, although he was inclined towards the former. Sighing heavily for what seemed the hundredth time, he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, pleading that the nagging pain behind his eyes and the throbbing in his temples would disappear.

'Please gentlemen. I ask little from you. All I ask is information about a man I know frequents this establishment. He's tall and has a penchant for dark, heavy cloaks." Looking at the blank faces of the men sat around him, Raoul was tempted to abandon his questioning. Then it struck him. They knew he was of fine blood and would not speak till he bought their information.

"Alright gentlemen. 100 francs for whoever can give me information regarding our phantasmal man. Perhaps that will help to loosen your memory?" Raoul questioned sarcastically, drawing a wad of notes from within his inner breast pocket. A smile graced his noble lips as a cacophony of voices competed with one another to gain the money.

"Silence." Raoul growled threateningly, and the men fell silent. "I will interview you individually. Come to me with your information and I may see fit to make you 100 francs richer." And abruptly standing, he retreated to a shadowy corner, the flickering candles casting their glow upon Raoul's shadowy form.

He did not have to wait long for the crowd of men to come to him, each pushing and barging to be at the front of the queue. He interviewed each man in turn and the replies ranged from sensible, useful information to the outright ridiculous, with one man claiming that that the cloaked man was actually a phantom and haunted the tavern after being killed in a drunken brawl 100 years prior. He waved aside each man, none the wiser after each had finished speaking, until he came to the last man in the queue. Shifting nervously from foot to foot, his cap clasped tightly within his fists, he stood before Raoul.

"I can tell you about the man monsieur. He comes here often and he's always with two other men. But he doesn't like the usual lot that stumbles in here. He's a noble like you sir, or at least he dressed like one. And he always wears a thick dark cloak with its hood pulled back so that all you can see are his eyes glittering within the shadows of the material. Gives me the creeps it does." The man said, suppressing a shudder at the thought of the man.

"And do you know where the cloaked man goes once he leaves this establishment?" Raoul asked, leaning forward in his chair to eye the man questioningly.

"No monsieur, but I do know that he has his own carriage which picks him up from outside." The man said, rubbing his head in thought. The excessive consumption of alcohol was getting to him, something which was obvious to Raoul, and so he continued probing the man before he fell into a drunken stupor and forgot his knowledge.

"And what does this carriage look like?" Raoul enquired, seizing the small trail of hope.

"Well monsieur, it wasn't the carriage that was distinguishable, but the horses themselves. Midnight black they are, but both horses have a distorted almost heart like white mark on their forehead." The man said, picturing the horses stamping the cold air of midnight, waiting for their master to emerge from the shadowy depths.

"Thank you. You have been of great assistance." Raoul said, and held forth the wad of notes, which the man quickly took and stuffed into his pocket, his eyes suspiciously roving his surrounding to see if he was watched.

"Thank you monsieur." And nodding in respect, the man departed quickly.

Raoul leaned back in his seat, his clenching hands pressed to his eyes. He had now begun the first step on the path that would wind to Christine and she would be his once more.

xXx

(Christine)

Taking the last bite of her roll and brie, she gently pressed the napkin to her lips, her eyes trained on Erik. She had implored him to take a bite of eat with her, and so he was currently sat, one hand lifting his mask the barest millimetre so that his lips were free, whilst the other held his chocolate cake laden form.

"Please Christine. Do not watch. I am hideous. I have scarred you with my ugliness once and I do not wish to distress you again." Erik said, his voice laced in pain, as he returned his mask to protect her.

"No Erik. I am not afraid of your face. It is a part of you and who you are. It is your mask that scares me more, for his cold and hard and you are not. I do not mind if you remove your mask, for it would make it easier for you." Christine said, squeezing Erik's hand reassuringly, a smile lighting her pretty face.

"I cannot Christine. But your words of kindness pierce my soul and make my heart dance in happiness. You are an angel Christine and you do not deserve to be locked away with me in this tomb." Erik mumbled, his eyes falling to the cake on his plate which he slowly crumbled up between his long bony fingers.

"Stop Erik." Christine yelled with more force than she intended, and her cheeks flooded in embarrassment as Erik gaze at her in surprise. Placing her hand against Erik's bare cheek, she whispered "Do not say such things." Letting her hand drop, she excused herself and went to the bathroom to refresh herself, wishing that it contained a mirror so she could see herself and the tears that threatened to spill. She had escaped one life of hell to be thrust into another, not of physical pain and suffering, but emotion pain; having to see a man so unloved and alone quake at the brush of her thumb or the touch of her hand. How much pain had one man suffer at the hands of so many because of physical features? She trembled at the thought. Splashing icy water on her heated face, she grasped the cool porcelain of the sink and breathed deeply. She would return to Erik with a smile on her face and make him forget the pain of the world.

"Christine, is everything alright?" Erik questioned imploringly as she sat down upon the chaise longue, tucking her errant curls behind her ears.

"Yes thank you Erik. I was...feeling a little hot but I am much better." She replied, her soft gaze falling on the worried look plastered upon his face.

"Are you sure Christine. You were most unwell. I do not wish for you to overexert yourself so soon." Erik remarked, laying a cool palm against her forehead in concern

"I am positive Erik." Christine said, and smile at him for his tenderness.

"Well I have a surprise for you then." And before Christine could do anything, Erik had slipped behind her seat and clasped his hands over her eyes. He bade for her to stand, and took her through his little home. She knew that they were walking across the living room, but then they entered a room she had never been in before; the one two doors to the left on the bathroom. It was immediately colder in this room, and goose bumps stood up on her arms and she shivered involuntarily.

"Welcome to my music room." Erik said, and released her eyes. Her eyes widened in wonder. The room was...spellbinding to say the least. It was clear that the house had been carved into the rock, for the back wall was the solid rock face. Light streamed through the small hole in the high rocky ceiling, casting shadows within the cavernous room upon the organ that dominated the room, its pipes reaching towards ceiling. Candelabras littered the room wherever she turned and thick golden and deep red hangings graced the walls. She stepped up to the imposing organ, her eyes falling upon the stacks of papers, spread with line upon line of scrawled black ink and markings.

"I have brought you here Christine for one purpose. To sing. I will teach you to sing like an angel, to match your gloriously angelic face." Erik said, and Christine blushed in pleasure. Even as a child with the world at her feet, she had never had lessons for anything.

"Oh it sounds wonderful Erik." Christine said breathlessly, her wide eyes trained on Erik.

"We will begin with the basics. Have you had lessons before?" He asked, and Christine shook her head. "I want you to stand, back straight, and breathe deeply. Feel your lungs expanding as you inhale." Erik said, coming to stand behind Christine and placing his hand at the base of her ribcage. "Now exhale slowly, pushing out all of the air, and feel you ribs and stomach expanding. Breathing properly helps your diaphragm, which in turn will help to improve your singing voice. It may sound silly, but the better you breathe, the better you will sing." Erik said, his fingers gesturing the actions of diaphragm breathing. She continued to do this several times, holding for several seconds before exhaling until Erik told her to stop.

"Alright. Now I will play five successive notes on the organ and I want you to try and sing them as I play." Erik said, and Christine slowly nodded. "Do not worry. Just try your best." Erik said reassuringly, and Christine managed a weak smile. As Erik played, Christine "la'd" along, watching Erik's reaction. He did this several times, and each time she became more comfortable doing so.

"Very good Christine. I will now play a scale, beginning on middle C once again, and I want you to do exactly the same again." Erik said, and began to play. She was surprised at how easily it came to her, each note smoothly flowing from her throat, and she tried to read Erik's expression.

"I am very pleased with you Christine. It seems that you have a natural talent. For now, we will finish with a tongue twister phrase which will help to aid your annunciation and make you accustomed to mouth movement. I want to your practice saying 'The tip of the tongue the teeth and the lips will make every word as clear as can be. The tip of the tongue the teeth and the lips all working together as you can see'." Erik said, and beckoned for Christine to begin, and she did, stumbling several times on her first try. By the fourth time, her tongue swirled easily around each word like a piece of sweet in her mouth, and her smile at Erik was returned.

"Well done Christine. You will rest now. Tomorrow, we will see how much higher you can go." Erik stated, and beckoned for her depart the room, with him following behind and closed the door behind them.

"You must be famished my angel from the exertion. I will fetch us some tea. You must sit and rest." Erik said, authority clear in his voice and Christine didn't dare argue. Sinking into the plush velvet and cushions of the chaise longue, her mind wandered over the day. Her relationship with Erik was progressing everyday and despite herself, she found herself dreading the day that she would have to live without him.

**Thank you for reading! Please review? :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you once again for the encouraging reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)**

(Raoul)

Pacing his room, his hands clasped behind his back in frustration, he stopped suddenly mid pace, a broad grin splitting his face. He had had the most perfect idea and knew exactly how to ensnare the fiend. He would trace the horses, and their distinctive markings, back to the stud-farm where they had been bred and hopefully they would be able to give him more details upon the mysterious person who had brought the two horses.

"Clement, would you please tell mother that I will not be home for supper." Raoul called as he bound down the marble staircase, slipping his tight leather gloves onto his hands to protect them from the chill of the evening.

Slipping into the stables, he retrieved his bicycle, wishing to remain inconspicuous amongst the crowds and rather liking the popular mode of transport. Tying a thick black ribbon around his golden locks to secure them from his face, he set off, peddling through the crowds to the outskirts of the city and the farm.

Upon arrival, Raoul was rather stumped. There was no-one about. The place was deserted, aside from the occasional whinny or chicken cluck. Dismounting from his bicycle, he leaned it idly against the side of the stable and went in search of human activity.

"Hello. Is anyone here?" Raoul called, walking aimlessly across the courtyard, carefully avoiding patches of straw and what was either manure or mud.

"Here monsieur." A man's voice called from the shadows of a stable, and Raoul turned, following the path of the voice. Ducking his head, he stepped into the stable, his eyes landing upon a man standing in the darkened corner, brushing the silken nose of a thoroughbred stallion with his palm soothingly as he fed it a sugar cube.

"How may I help you monsieur?" He asked, momentarily stepping into the tack room to retrieve a brush to unknot the horse's flowing mane.

"Well monsieur. It is rather a long story I am afraid. I am on the trail of my fiancée. She was kidnapped by a man, but all I know of him is that he owns two distinctive horses as each have a white heart shaped marking upon their forehead and I assumed that they had been bred here. Do you know of them?" Raoul asked, watching the man's face intently for any sign of recognition.

"I believe I may be of assistance. I was the one who bred them and assisted at their birth. I would recognise them anywhere. I will of course have to look at the records as to who purchased them, but I believe you may be near to finding your beloved." The man laughed, returning the brush and wiping his hands on his trousers, walked over to Raoul and shook his hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you monsieur. My name is Antoine Rideau. I am the manager of this estate and I deal with all business and enquiries."

"And you monsieur. My name is Vicompte Raoul de Chagny."

"If you would care to follow me, I will take you to my office." And beckoning for Raoul to follow, he stepped out into the light. Away from the darkness of the shadows, Raoul could see that he was a young man, of roughly the same age as himself, tall and well build with handsome features and fine dark eyes. If he had been a woman, he was sure he would have swooned in the company of such a man.

Continuing across the courtyard, he followed Antoine into one of the stables, which cleverly disguised a very normal and well furnished office with a customary desk piled high with papers and letters of all description.

"If you would take a seat Vicompte, I will search for the relevant paperwork." And turning his back on Raoul, the man began to rummage through a tall metal filing cabinet, pulling files and paperwork out seemingly randomly until he paused to examine one file, before turning, presenting it triumphantly.

"Monsieur, I believe I have found what you are looking for." And taking a seat, he opened the file, scanning each sheet before finding the right one. His eyes widened and he paused.

"Well monsieur?" Raoul asked questioningly, his head cocked as he studied monsieur Rideau.

"It seems monsieur that the two horses were bred...for the Paris Opera House."

xXx

(Christine)

Reclining upon the sofa, she felt lazy and rather sleepy. For the past few years she had not had a single moment to herself, instead spending her time answering the calls and demands of her father. She had become unaccustomed to being so...free. Yawning, she stretched her tired body like a cat, feeling her tense muscles relax.

As she smoothed the folds of her skirt around her slim legs, a crash resonated from the kitchen, followed by muffled words of anger.

"Erik. Is everything alright?" Christine called, and when she didn't receive an answer, hurriedly scampered into the kitchen to find Erik slumped on the floor, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, layers of flour dusting his clothing, hair and mask. He looked utterly helpless and Christine smiled at the image of all-powerful Erik weak and powerless for once.

"Oh Erik. What happened?" She asked, extending a hand to Erik and he grasped it firmly, slowly rising to his feet as he dusted the flour off of himself.

"Well it was meant to be a surprise Christine. I was going to bake you some sweet delicacies, delicate cakes to tempt your taste buds, to have for supper. But...I have no clue as to what to do." Erik added, looking uncomfortable as he admitted his weakness.

"Oh it's very simple Erik. Let me help you." Christine said, beginning to roll the sleeves of her blouse as she smiled sweetly at Erik.

"But I wanted to you rest Christine. You should be reposing within one of my armchairs instead of aiding imbecilic Erik." He said, surveying the mess that he had made, and Christine stepped closer to him, gently wiping the streak of flour from Erik's porcelain cheek, their eyes both trained upon her fingers.

"I want to help Erik. I find baking fun and most relaxing." Christine said with a smile, and went to the cupboards to retrieve the necessary ingredients.

It was not long before trays of sweet smelling cakes were in the oven, their delicious scent wafting from the vents, filling Erik and Christine's noses with the mouth-watering scent of vanilla as the stood washing the dishes and bowls; Erik's elbows thrust deep into a sink full of steaming bubbly water as Christine stood with a pretty rose bordered tea-towel, drying the items as they were passed to her.

"I believe that our efforts may be cooked." Erik said, and gently taking the towel from between Christine's small hands, removed the cakes from the oven, the golden delicacies steaming.

"When they cool, we shall decorate them however you wish." Erik stated with a smile, willing the time to pass so that together they could share the experience of finishing their hard work.

Within half an hour, the cakes had cooled enough to be iced, and quickly retrieving butter and icing sugar from the larder, Erik whipped up a bowl of creamy icing which Christine happily spread upon the individual cakes.

"Erik these look delicious. We make a fantastic team, you and I." Christine said, and began to place a few upon a plate as Erik undertook the task of making tea.

She collected two cups and saucers, flitting across the kitchen to collect everything that they would need for supper.

"Christine. Do go and sit down, I will bring the tea tray in when it is ready." And guiding her arm, Christine returned to the living room, reclined back against the soft arm of one of Erik's oversized armchairs.

Within a moment Erik entered, carrying a tray with tea and cake, and Christine joined him upon the sofa.

"Would you care for dinner later, for if so I shall go and prepare it now." Erik said, always thinking of Christine and her well-being.

"Oh no Erik. I am fine thank you. I do not feel that hungry, and cake will suffice perfectly. As long as you are alright as well?" She asked, thinking of thin, gaunt frame and how she would change that if she had the chance.

"No Christine. I am fine, but thank you for your concern. I must admit, before you came to me I would go days without eating, and so since you have been within my company, I have eaten more enough to last for several weeks." Erik said, and Christine studied his face to see if he was joking or not.

"But Erik..." She began, but was stopped when Erik laid his cool palm against the bare skin of her arm.

"Do not fret for me Christine. I have lived on this planet for many years, more than double your life-span, and so I have become accustomed to a certain way of life. My body no longer craves food in the manner that your young angelic body does, but that is fine." Erik said, and they both took a sip of tea, words failing them both.

"Well, would you at least try one of my.. I mean our cakes?" Christine asked innocently, and Erik twitched in response of her thoughtfulness and innocence.

"I would love to try one Christine, as long as you do also." Erik said, and Christine smiled, choosing an extra thickly iced cake for Erik and one for herself, placing the little treat within his waiting palms. Their eyes meeting, they both took a bite, the light, fluffy cake melting in their mouths, and Christine sighed in appreciation.

"These are delicious Erik. We should most definitely do this more often." Christine said, licking a dab of icing from her upper lick and as she did so, she could feel Erik's eyes trained upon the movement of her tongue. Blushing, she bent to pick up a napkin, but was stopped when Erik's captured her chin within his hand, holding her face still as he studied her face and wiped the icing from her lip. His eyes flickered over her lips and back to her eyes as they gazed, wide eyed and innocently back at him.

With a shaking palm, Erik slowly leant forward and pressed his lips to Christine. The majority of his lips were covered by the smooth porcelain of his mask, but a slither of his pink fleshy lip pressed against her rosebud lips. The contact of flesh upon flesh sent shivers down Christine's spine, and she began to raise her palm to place it against Erik's cheek when he abruptly pulled away, his hands clasped firmly within his lap.

"Christine, I'm so sor..." He began, but could not continue, as with a surge of courage Christine leant forward and brushed her lips to his. The glorious sensation caused Christine's eyes to flutter closed as her hands scrambled to lift Erik's mask enough so that she could feel the whole of his flesh against hers. She closed the gap between them, hearing their combined heavy breathing loud in her ears and she shifted closer, gasping as Erik's lips moved against hers.

At that moment, she felt something warm and wet spread across her lap, and reluctantly breaking her lips from Erik's, she looked down at her lap and noticed that in her eagerness to be connected to Erik, she had spilt her tea.

"Erik. I'm sorry. I...I'm going to have to go and change." And rushing from the room, she slipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind her, breathing heavily as she leaned against the door, her hands pressed to her lips in shock and wonder. It was the most glorious feeling, being so intimately connected to Erik, and she could not suppress the grin that spread from ear to ear.

Hurriedly slipping from her skirt, she ran a sink of water and began to rub at the stain with a bar of soap several times before wringing out the thick material and hanging it in the warmth of the bathroom. Luckily, one of her many dressing robes was hung behind the door, and she put it on, wrapping the lacy material tight around her slim frame.

Returning to the living room, she noticed that Erik was nowhere to be seen. "Erik. Erik. Where are you? Please come out and talk to me." She called, wanting to explain her feelings to the man who had open his heart and displayed his feelings to her.

Gasping, she realised that Erik must have assumed that she regretted the kiss and had fled to hide in shame and embarrassment. Her eyes widened in horror, and tears threatened to spill at the thought. Her poor, dear Erik. She would show him how deeply she cared for him and she longed for the feel of his lips against hers, to be wrapped in his comforting embrace and to never leave it. She sank back into the armchair, clutching her knees to her chest as sobs wracked her small frame.

**Soo, their first kiss. I hope that I dealt with it realistically! Oh, and I am not a horse rider, and I know little about horses and keeping them. If I've got anything wrong, please let me know and please review! :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**I've decided to dedicate this chapter to Erik's feelings, most particularly towards his relationship with Christine and their developing affections for one another. Enjoy! :)**

(Erik)

What had happened between them? Just was a mere week since they had first met. Before then she had simply been another face in the crowd. Another person who would look upon him with fear and revulsion at the sight of his hideousness. But she was different. She had entered his life and had taken control with the snap of her pretty little fingers, and he had succumbed heart and soul. He would give his life to keep her by his side for the rest of time. His every waking thought was of her and her innocence and beauty and even in dreams, her laugh or smile or lips would call his name and wrap him in the sweetest of rose scented embraces.

Locked away in his music room, collapsed over his beloved organ, he wept silent tears of grief. A kiss. The simple act of one person pressing their flesh against another's in the most intimate of acts, the first time in his fifty years of existence. The wounds of his love for Christine were deeper than the superficial scars that marred his skeletal body from continual years of torture and suffering, the pain that he knew how to cope with. It was the pain of rejection from the woman who held his heart in her childish hands that caused him to weep afresh. He had destroyed any chances of happiness with his complete stupidity. He had expected too much from her. A monster such as himself should not expect to have the love of an angel like Christine. He should be thanking whichever deity resided above that she even dared to talk with him daily and share his company.

A sharp pain resided in his chest. He knew little of love, having never been struck by cupid's arrow, and yet this pain was not that of malady, but of joy. It embraced his dormant black heart and crept into his soul. Half a century upon the planet and he knew as much about love and happiness now as he did the day God saw fit to create a monster out of the most foul of materials and cast the being upon the earth to be shunned and tormented. He berated himself as the thought of Christine and her angelic beauty danced before his eyes, the sweet scent of her skin, the feel of her silken curls tickling his skin and her lips, swollen from their kiss as she flew from his embrace.

He craved the mind numbing oblivion of morphine, the sweet high followed by the periods of nothings that would soothe his aching heart and act like a consoling balm around his wounded heart.

"Erik. Erik. Where are you? Please come out and talk to me." He could hear Christine calling to him from the living room, and silencing his laboured breathing, he could hear the quiet sob of Christine's tears as they fell and he paled in shame and confusion. Why was Christine crying? What was it that caused her heart so much pain? It clicked. She was so repulsed with her actions that she could not contain her tears of disgust and regret.

"Christine." He murmured, savouring her name, and struck the keys vigorously, the haunting notes echoing around the cavernous room, unleashing the pain and frustration that consumed him. Hurt soon turned to anger, chords clashing as his long bony fingers flew over the keys, the noise produced painful even to his musical ears. If only he had never met her, with her seductive smiles and innocent touches. Did she have any idea what torture she caused him, how he suffered at her hands. He growled in frustration, and launched into an aggressive crescendo, a rugged, pained noise erupting from his throat.

But his trained ears could detect the sweetest of notes originating from outside his door, and he paused mid-lament, listening to Christine's pained melody.

"Ave Maria, Maria de quem cano  
Nos sunt petens vobis misericordia  
Dum enim jam  
Totaliter spes  
Totaliter spes

Ave Maria  
Ave Maria, S. Maria  
Exaudi preces Maria  
Ubi multo passione iam facta  
Quid semper magis nocere sequi magis nocere  
Populus fidem iterum  
Eis intelligere et dimitte  
Omnes populi fieri amicis  
Et omnes gentes esse fratres  
Ave Maria".

Despite her obvious lack of structured training, the beauty of her words and the innocence and purity of her voice sent tears spilling from beneath Erik's lids, and fumbling for a handkerchief, pressed the cool linen to his heated eyes. Her could hear the rasp of her breathing as she tried to quell the wave of tears, and abruptly standing to his feet, he left his haven and sought her out, collapsing at her pretty little feet like a dog.

"Oh Christine. My Christine." He lamented, rubbing his face against the ivory, smooth skin of her slender feet as bitter tears splashed against the lacy hem of her garment. He could feel her small warm palm stoke the back of his skull, her little fingers weaving into the fine hair of his dark wig.

"Erik, do not cry. Please. I implore you." She chocked, tears running down her cheeks to plop onto Erik's bowed head.

"Christine. I am crying for you. You deserve so much better Christine. It is no wonder that you fled from the embrace of a monster. I asked too much of you, to kiss my hideous lips, and I hurt you. Christine." He raised his eyes to her, seeking something, and Christine's plump lower lip trembled.

"My poor, sweet Erik. Do not cry. You misunderstood my actions. I was not fleeing your kiss in shame and horror. If I am honest Erik, I sought more of your kisses. But I spilt my tea and it was staining into the fine cloth of my skirt and I didn't want to ruin it. So I had to go and clean it and change. I would sooner have left it and remained locked in your sweet embrace, but I had no choice. Please Erik, I speak nothing but truth." Christine smiled through her tears, her sweet angelic face touching Erik's soul with the power of her words.

"But why Christine. I am not a good man Christine. I have such terrible things in my life, things that would cause you to truly flee from me. I am ashamed, so ashamed of my actions Christine, but then I never thought that I would have a woman by my side, to share my life with. I wanted to die, Christine, to escape the daily torment of my ugliness, and the only way to do so was to kill. I am a murderer Christine. The blood of many stains my hands. They were not good people, Christine, nor were they innocent or worthy of life, but regardless, I have played God and taken life when I should not. I am bad for you Christine, and I give my permission for you to leave." He could not look her in the eye, ashamed of his past and his actions, instead burying his masked face in the abundant fabric that pooled around Christine's feet.

"Oh Erik, do not speak such words. Regardless of what you have done in your past, you are a good man now, for you took me from my own nightmare and rescued me. No monster or devil would have done such a thing." She whispered, grasping his chin within both of her hands so that she could look him directly in the eye, his molten orbs meeting her chocolate ones, and she gently caressed his masked cheek.

"But I am not. Why can't you see that? Everything that I own, everything that I touch, becomes corrupted and turns bad. And I could not stand to see that happen to you. I care for you too deeply for that to happen." He broke from her grasp, nuzzling his face against the material pulled taught around her shapely thighs, and she brushed his hair with her palms, smoothing the loose strands of hair from his face.

"Erik please. Just stop. I cannot take this. I wanted you to kiss me Erik. I enjoyed it." Christine said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Erik's head.

"You are just trying to stop my tears and make me smile Christine. I know that it is not in your nature to hurt and upset. But do not spare my feelings Christine. I want the truth Christine. I forced you to kiss me and I was wrong and..." He was muttering, words spilling from between his lips, and Christine pressed a slim digit to Erik's porcelain lips.

"Kiss me Erik."

"Do not kid me Christine. You do not know how your words cut deep to my soul Christine. I am constantly tortured by your lingering glances and smiles and..." He could not continue his rant as Christine grasped his head from her lap and raising his mask, pressed her lips to his. She could not suppress the moan of delight that left her golden throat and Erik shuddered in delight. That simple noise made him melt, and with shaking hands, placed them on either side of Christine's pretty, delicate face and drew her from the confines of the armchair and onto the more spacious chaise longue. Sat together, the lines of their bodies pressed together from lips to legs, Christine clutched her arms tightly around Erik's thin body, one hand rubbing the hard, prominent bumps of Erik's spine. With a surge of courage, Christine pushed lightly on Erik's chest, and he leaned back to recline the length of the couch, Christine pressed flat against the length of his body as their lips explored one another. His hands were shaking almost uncontrollably as they explored the length of Christine's spine, gliding over the silken material of her robe.

She slowly drew back, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, their breathing heavy as she gazed into his eyes, loose curls dancing in her agitated breath, her ample chest rising and falling heavily through the thin gauzy material and Erik had to struggle internally not to stare, captivated. He sat up suddenly, and Christine scrambled off of his lap, her face creased in worry.

"How can you stand to embrace a monster?" The words, although muttered quietly, held enough power for Christine to gasp in surprise and disbelief.

"What do you mean Erik?" She asked, placing a hand tentatively upon his tense thigh, her eyes like an open book displaying the confusion battling within her heart.

"I am repulsive Christine. I am just over 30 years your senior, old enough to be your father, and if that's not bad enough, I am hideous. I am a corpse Christine, mentally and physically. How can you stand to look at me, let alone kiss me and touch me, to willingly press your sweet self to me and be consumed by my greedy desire? You should be on the arm of a young man, Christine, sharing his candied kisses instead of mine. I am abhorrent Christine. How can you stand to be here with me?"

"Because I love you Erik."

**So they've admitted their feelings for one another. I guess was only the natural progression of events! Anyway, here is the English translation of the Latin lyrics that Christine sings;**

"**A****ve Maria, Maria of whom I sing**

**We are asking you for mercy**

**For people who have already been waiting so long**

**Totally without hope**

**Totally without hope**

**Ave Maria**

**Ave Maria, Saint Maria**

**Hear my prayers Maria**

**Where much suffering has already occurred**

**Why always does more hurt follow more hurt**

**Let the people have faith again**

**Let them understand and forgive**

**Then all peoples could become friends**

**And all the races could be brothers**

**Ave Maria"**

**Thank you for reading, please review? :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**To my anonymous reviewer: Ta da! Anyway, thank you for all the wonderful reviews! Enjoy. :)**

(Raoul)

Slowing his horses to a halt, Raoul hopped out of his Phaeton and handed the reins to a stable boy who loitered, waiting for arriving guests.

"Excuse me. Can I speak to somebody about your horses?" Raoul enquired of the boy, pulling his leather riding gloves from his hands and placing them within the pocket of his greatcoat.

"Oui monsieur. How can I help you?" A man emerged from the stables, wiping his hands upon his oversized trousers. The young boy, glaring hard at Raoul, unbridled the horses, and took them into a stable to be watered and fed. Raoul stared, shocked and surprised at his behaviour. The man noticed Raoul's expression.

"Don't worry about him. He's just jealous of your good looks." And roughly patting Raoul on the back in an overly-friendly manner, he beckoned for Raoul to follow him.

"Well monsieur. I came to enquire about a pair of horses. I have been told that this fine Opera House owns two magnificent black horses with distinctive white markings upon their forehead. May I please see them?" He asked, struggling to keep up with the man's long stride as he re-entered the stable and began to groom the sole chestnut mare.

"I would, monsieur, most heartily. But you see, they have disappeared. Nobody knows what happened to them. One night, they were fed and watered and locked away, and the next morning they'd gone, leaving no trace. That was about six months ago and nothing has been heard of them since. Believe me, monsieur, we searched for them, for they were real beauties and fine horses, but nothing." Said the man, shrugging his shoulders in a defeatist manner and Raoul sighed.

"Thank you for your time monsieur." And nodding his head, Raoul departed the stable. His mind whirred. He had got so far, following the faint trail of hope like a strand of fine silk, to find it snapped just before its end. He was no nearer to finding Christine. He had no idea as to what to do now, and frantically ran his fingers through his silken locks, thoughts flitting through his brain.

'Perhaps a little Opera will help to quell my tumultuous thoughts?' he mused, climbing the steps at the front of the impressive building to be swallowed by the cool, shadowy expanse of gilt and marble. He slipped across the foyer, dodging cleaners and maids at their work, and up the decorative stair-case to walk silently through the double doors and slip in at the back into the rows of plush velvet seats as rehearsals took place on stage for Chalumeau's 'Hannibal'. He stared in awe at the interior of the opera. It was sumptuous and...golden. The recurring theme of gold and red was displayed throughout, from the seats to the thick, draped curtains and even the ceiling, with its intricate carvings and paintings were bordered in gold leaf. His eyes were drawn back to the stage when the lead soprano, a stout, flame haired woman, poorly hit a high note that reverberated around the domed room, and Raoul winced. He watched, intrigued, as words were practiced and positions corrected, when suddenly a commotion began upon the stage, and a collective scream and chorus of 'He's here, the phantom of the opera' began amongst the puerile minded ballet corps.

The Phantom of the Opera? Who was he? His sense of curiosity aroused, he watched, transfixed, as the lead soprano, her nasal voice screeching, pointed to the offending article, her face white with fear. It seemed that a sandbag had dropped from the rafters and had landed close to her feet, splitting its contents over her extravagant costume. He gazed, highly amused, as she stormed off the stage, followed by her entourage and a gaggle of hysteric ballerinas, to leave the ballet mistress and several cast members in their wake. Departing from his seat, he strode briskly to the stage, slowing to climb the stairs up to the wooden stage.

"And who are you monsieur?"

He stopped, shrinking under the penetrating glare of the authoritarian, serious ballet mistress. His cool blue gaze slowly met her unwavering icy green gaze.

"I'm sorry Madame. I did not mean to intrude. Forgive me. My name is Vicompte Raoul de Chagny. I heard a commotion and came to offer my assistance." He said, forgoing the fact that he had been sitting in upon their rehearsal.

"You are too late Vicompte. We had an accident involving a stray sandbag, but nobody was hurt."

"Except the pride of silly Carlotta." Added a slim, pretty blonde ballerina, and the woman shot her a deathly look, warning her to keep her silence. Raoul smiled at the young ballerina playfully.

"Thank you Mégane. Although not hurt, our leading soprano likes to act the Prima Donna with an audience. It was an accident, and she foolishly believes that someone was trying to hurt her. But I suppose it is in the nature of leading sopranos to be at least a little paranoid."

"But Mamman, it was not an accident. It was the Phantom of the opera!" Mégane said, and once again her mother glared at her angrily.

"It was no such thing. There is no Phantom of the Opera."

"But Mamman, there is. Claudette and Emelie have seen him. They say that he stalks the corridors leading to our dormitories and that he wears a black hooded cloak and a bone white mask and that he disappears straight through the walls and….." She continue to recount the gossip that spread like wild-fire amongst the ballerinas studying and living within the Opera Populaire, but was silenced by a sharp rap of her mothers' cane upon the floor.

"Silence. Enough of this infernal talk. Go, now, and practice." And with another sharp rap of the cane, and an icy glare in her direction, Mégane hastily ran off of the stage into the wings.

"I'm sorry about my daughter monsieur. She is rather prone to listening to idle gossip." Madame Giry said, her cool level gaze seeming to almost penetrate him and discover his intentions.

"It is of no matter, Madame. But I believe that you are hiding something. You know this man. Why are you protecting him?" Raoul asked, noticing the subtle fall of the proud woman's face and her cheeks temporarily blanch.

"I do not know him, Monsieur, for as I said. There is no Phantom of the Opera." And she turned hurriedly with the intention of leaving to supervise the ballet rehearsal, but was stopped by Raoul laying a hand upon her shoulder.

"Please Madame. I believe him a vital source in the search for my missing fiancé. Would you please arrange a meeting for me?"

She sighed heavily, a look of determination, yet also resignation upon her weary face. "Monsieur, as I have said, I do not know of a man who stalks the Opera Populaire…But if I ever meet him, I will, and I shall send you word. Good day monsieur." And with a brisk nod, she swept off the stage into the shadowy embrace of the wings, her harsh voice punctuating the air as she called instructions to the ballet corps.

Raoul was uneasy. His head told him that he was foolish, that he was wasting time with a dead-end lead and this man, if he actually existed, had no connection to the disappearance of Christine. However, it was a gut feeling that told him that this man, this elusive being who stalked the corridors of the famous Opera Populaire, played a vital role in his search. With a weary sigh, he hoped that his instinct was right.

xXx

"Because I love you Erik." The words reverberated around the room, repeated several times in the audible noise of Christine's breathing. She sat tense, waiting for Erik to acknowledge her words. He sat, knuckles turning white as he gripped his knees in a death-like vice.

"Erik?" Christine ventured, but still Erik remained tense, his eyes staring straight ahead into the distance, refusing to meet Christine's sweet, loving gaze. She shuffled closer, tucking her feet under her body so she was facing his solid form, and slowly, lovingly, she grasped his chin in her gentle grasp and turned his face to hers.

"Erik, please say something." Her eyes searched his face, imploringly, her cheeks flooding red in shame and embarrassment. How could she have been so stupid? She had foolishly believed that he returned her feelings and had pressed her growing love upon him, to be shunned by a heavy wall of silence. She now understood what it was like to be Erik. Her bottom lip trembling, she hastily dropped her hand and got up from the chaise longue, walking away from the pain and grief, her thick curls hiding her tears.

"Christine. Stop." Erik croaked, his voice thick with emotion, and Christine stopped, her trembling back facing him. "Please come back. I want to talk to your angelic face, not your clothed back, as beautiful as it is." Christine's lips twitched at Erik's attempt of humour, and wiping her eyes, she return to her rightful place beside Erik.

" Christine, why do you cry. Erik does not like to see your tears." He asked caringly, his soulful eyes, all traces of his previous distance forgotten.

" Because I told you I love you Erik, and you did not reply. I..I thought you did not love me." She lifted her moist eyes to his, his face unreadable behind the cold porcelain of his mask.

"Love you Christine? I don't know what love is! 50 years I've been on this planet, and not once has anyone ever told me, or even shown, that they love me. Before you Christine, I'd never even been kissed. I don't know how to love you." He turned his face from hers, ashamed of the tears that welled beneath the hard lines of the eyeholes of his mask.

"Then let me show you. Let us learn together. I do love you Erik, with every fibre of my being." And slowly, she lifted her little hand to his face and cupped his cheek, her fingers closing over the edge of his mask.

"So that's how it is. You lied to Erik just to get another glimpse of the monster beneath. You don't care about Erik's feelings. He trusted you, believed that somebody for once in his life actually loved him, and now he finds that it was nothing. You little witch. You want to see do you, well glut your eyes, feast your soul on Erik's cursed ugliness." And with an inhuman roar of pain and anguish, he tore his mask from his face, hurling it, along with his wig, to the ground, where it smashed and splintered into hundreds of pieces. Christine stared, dumbfounded. She could not suppress the tremble that ran through her, and Erik's highly alert senses saw the action.

"You're afraid, are you? Is it too much for little Christine. Has she realised how ugly Erik actually is. Or does she want a closer look. Here." And grabbing her hands in his, he pulled them to his face and clawed at his face with their hands so that small rivulets of blood ran from the gashes that marked his scared face.

"Are you satisfied Christine?" He asked, panting heavily, as the wave of madness and defence washed away to leave a broken man in its wake.

"Why Erik. Why did you do that? I was not trembling with fear at your face. They were tears of sadness. It breaks my heart to think of the pain and suffering that has been inflicted upon you by the hands of men because of the will of God. I..." She broke down into tears, her slim frame wracked with sobs whilst Erik sat uncertainly, regarding Christine with a level gaze, his face devoid of emotion.

"If only you could see how much it pains me to upset you. I am a foolish, stupid child. I thought that by revealing your face, I could prove to you that I can see past your physical imperfections and love you in spite of them, but I was wrong. So wrong. I am so stupid." She muttered, fisting her hands in her thick curls in anger and despair, and Erik could do nothing but watch as she struggled internally to fight her torment.

Together, they sat like that for several minutes, until her tears ran dry, and wordlessly, Erik opened his arms and she crawled into his embrace, cocooned against the pain by the secure and warm embrace of a man whose long dormant heart began to beat once again with the first tender shoots of love.

**I'm sorry that Erik and Christine's part was so short, but the next chapter will be better (and juicier), I promise! Anyway, thank you for reading. Please review? :)**


	12. Chapter 12

(Christine)

The silence stretched between them, the tension heavy and vibrating in the air. Christine could hear the dull thud of Erik's heart as it beat within his skeletal frame, the rhythmic beat soothing her strained nerves.

"Christine. Don't you know that I love you? Without you, I have no reason to live. My life has been so devoid of affection, until you came into my life. I've been searching the globe my whole life for a woman to see past my face. It's been so long that I cannot easily accept that you are any different to the rest of your sex." Erik whispered, his wasted cheek pressed tight against the loose curls at Christine's crown, inhaling the intoxicating floral perfume of her soaps, his steady tears trickling over her scalp.

"But you must know that I am. My love for you is eternal, Erik. I might be a child, but my age is insignificant. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life by your side as your wife, kissing you when I desire." Christine twisted in his close embrace, cupping his bare face within her slim hands, her eyes scanning his face and committing each bump and dip to memory, his face no longer holding any fear for her.

"You want to be my wife?" He chocked, his face creasing his pain and confusion and Christine smiled, gently brushing his cheek with the pads of her fingers, marvelling at the unique feel of his skin.

"Of course I do. I would be honoured to be made your wife before the eyes of God." Christine said, her eyes widening as she watched Erik's face contort in disgust.

"Before God? There is no such divine being. He does not exist Christine. He is just another tale to be told young children to keep them meek and mild. If God existed, then he would not have 'blessed' me with this face and then shunned me in my youth and time of need. The great, merciful being of the Bible is a falsity, and illusion." Erik said, his body rigid, and Christine crawled from his lap in horror, her hands pressed to her mouth as she shook her head disbelievingly.

"Do not speak in such a way my love. It pains me to hear you say such blasphemous things. If we do not believe, we have nothing." Christine pleaded, her eyes beseeching Erik to acknowledge the truth of her words and see the faint beacon of light that faith held within the darkness of life.

"I cannot believe Christine. It is lies, but I will not forbid you from your beliefs. I am sorry, but I simply don't feel the same. I will speak no more of this Christine. You words hold no power, but should you wish, we will be joined before your God."

"Thank you Erik. I will not ask much from you, but I will ask that keep your heart open to allow God to enter. No soul, no matter how dark, is lost to him. Have faith Erik, for me." Her wide, innocent eyes beseeched Erik to bend to her will, and with a sigh of resignation, he grasped her small hand within his and pulled her close against his hard body and pressed a kiss to her forehead in answer.

The silence stretched between them once again, shielded in the cocoon of affection. Christine's mind wandered to the future, picturing a small cottage in the country, planting trailing roses under the watchful eye of her husband whilst their children ran in the spacious garden, their plump little legs carrying their eager bodies in the pursuit of amusement. A smile played on her lips, and feeling his gaze upon her, she turned to find Erik watching her curiously.

"What are you thinking, my angel?" Erik asked, and Christine's eyes fell to her lap in embarrassment transfixed by the silken material of her voluminous skirt.

"I was thinking about our future. A little cottage in the country, away from prying eyes ...and our children." She added the later part in a whisper, refusing to meet Erik's predictable expression.

"We cannot have children Christine. They would be horrified by my hideousness. I could not stand to see the fear in their eyes as they shied from my touch. I...I could not love a child Christine." His initial anger faded, the hard flash of his eyes melting to pools of liquid gold with anguish. Christine's lips trembled, and she grasped his cold, clammy hand, pressing it to the silken skin of her plush cheek.

"Do not say that Erik. A child, half you and half me, could never be afraid of you. All a child craves is love, regardless of the physical appearance of their parents. A child will love their parents unconditionally as long as they are loved in return, and you have so much love to give for the right person. You have nothing to be afraid of, I promise you." With nothing but truth in her eyes, she brushed a kiss to his palm, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Never before had she cried so often in so short a time, her heart brimming with so much emotion.

"Christine, I...I cannot give you children." Erik said, burying his face into her curls to hide his shame. Christine moved her head and took his face within her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"What do you mean Erik?"

"I have suffered some terrible things in my life. My body has been beaten, whipped, abused. I have been a morphine and opium addict. I am a corpse Christine, mentally and physically, and I am old."

"I don't understand Erik." Her brow furrowed in confusion, failing to understand the deeper meaning of Erik's subtle words.

"I cannot perform Christine. I have tried, on my own, and...it does not last." Christine's cheeks slowly flooded red as realisation dawned upon her, and she gazed sympathetically at Erik, resting her hand upon his tense thigh.

"Is there nothing that we can do?" She asked, knowing very little about the medical condition, but hoping that some cure existed.

" I don't believe so. I know a lot about herbal remedies, so I will make a tincture for our wedding night, but there are no guarantees that it will work. It is another reason for you to find a younger man Christine. You no longer have any obligations to me, for who could love a corpse?"

"I do. It does not matter to me Erik. I have always dreamt of children, I will not deny it, but my love for you is so much stronger. We can try, but if it does not work, then I will not make me love you any less.

"What did I do to deserve you? My angel." Erik asked rhetorically, and Christine smiled, a true, heart warming smile that lit her face with joy and touched Erik's lips in response. She reclined against his thin frame, her head resting upon his bony shoulder with her legs at an angle to her body. She wrapped her arms tightly around his skeletal waist, inhaling the rich scent of cologne and sweat that caused a wave of light-headedness. Revelling in their acknowledged happiness, the silence was broken by the rumble of Christine's stomach. Blushing, she quickly sat up and pressed her hands to her stomach.

"Oh Christine. I am so sorry. You must be hungry. Please, stay seated. I will go and prepare us some supper." And pressing a kiss to the tip of Christine's nose, Erik walked into the kitchen, and Christine noted with a triumphant smile that Erik didn't stop or glance at the broken remains of his mask, instead walking, head held high, in his natural glory; mask and wig free.

In his absence, her mind began to whirr. As much as she dreamed of having children, her love for Erik was stronger than her maternal instinct and she would insure that his condition would not cause another wedge between them. She would be thankful for whatever happened, for the future rested solely in God's hands, and if he saw fit to bless them with children, then she would be any happier. Whilst deep in thought, her hand wandered to her flat stomach, resting against the flat plane below her ribs, but hurriedly dropped it to her lap when Erik entered carrying a tray with a tall glass of chill lemonade.

"You must be thirsty Christine, and I know you have a penchant for sweet things and I find lemonade most refreshing." Erik said, smiling, and Christine graciously accepted the glass, slowly sipping the cloudy pale yellow liquid, her nose wrinkling at the sharp bitter taste of the lemon.

"I am most sorry Christine. Did I add too much lemon? I tried to follow a recipe, but it was most imbecilic, so I adapted it. Would you rather I try again and make it less bitter?" He asked, reaching for the glass, but Christine shook her head, smiling at the thought of Erik's complete devotion to her tastes and needs.

"No thank you Erik. It is most delicious. I would not wish to trouble you. Thank you for the drink." Christine said, smiling warmly at Erik, and gently squeezed his hand.

"I am most sorry to leave you sitting here alone. Perhaps you would like to read one of the novels from my vast collections of literature. I will leave you to find one whilst I go and prepare you some nourishment." Said he, returning her loving smile.

"Thank you Erik." And placing her glass upon the side-table, she rose and wandered to Erik's bookcase, scanning the spines of the novels until her eyes settled upon one which caught her attention.

'Les Misérables' She muttered to herself, stretching on tip-toes to reach the novel on the top shelf, and slowly pulled it from the shelf, sending a shower of dust raining down upon her head. She coughed, a successions of sneezes racking her slim frame, as she returned to her seat, tucking her feet beneath her.

Time flew as she became absorbed within the world created by the written word upon the page, and it wasn't long until Erik called her. Setting the book aside, she rose and followed his voice, walking into the kitchen to find it transformed. The majority of the candles had been extinguished, with a resplendent candelabra taking pride of place upon the dining table, illuminating the setting of two steaming plates of rich food, a glass of deep ruby wine glittering in the light to the right of her plate, the sweet scent of roses from the scattering of petals filling her nose, along with the mouth-watering scent of lamb.

"Erik, this looks delicious." She muttered, left speechless with the care to which Erik had gone to please her.

"You are worthy, my angel. It was no more than you deserve. Please sit." And standing behind her chair, he pulled the chair out for her and she sat, pulling her chair closer to the table, her mouth salivating in anticipation.

With a shared smile, they began to eat. Mid course, her eyes rose to his and she could sense his hesitation, being so unused to eat bare-faced in company. She grasped his empty hand and linked their fingers, squeezing them reassuringly with a smile on her lips and warm, open eyes, reassuring Erik that he had no need to fear or hide.

They soon finished, and laying her cutlery parallel upon her clean plate, she took a sip of wine, the alcohol rushing to her head.

"That was exquisite Erik. Thank you." Christine said, licking the remaining sauce from her lips as Erik cleared the plates, bustling about the kitchen like a typical woman, and Christine couldn't help but smile.

"I hope that this tempts your sweet taste-buds." Erik said humorously, laying a ramekin of hot chocolate soufflé before Christine, dusted with icing sugar and topped with raspberries.

"Once again Erik, you have dazzled me with your culinary talents." Christine said with a smile, retrieving her spoon and tasting the first mouth-full of warm chocolate goodness. The combination of the chocolate with the raspberries was delicious, sending a shiver down Christine's spine. Several mouthfuls, and the soufflé was finished, much to Christine's annoyance.

"Thank you so much Erik." She said, her eyebrow raising questioningly as Erik abruptly stood and strode from the room, returning a moment later with his hands held behind his back.

"Close your eyes." He breathed, his smooth, sensuous voice gliding over her skin and causing goose-bumps to rise. She followed her instructions; her senses become aware to the rich sweet overwhelming smell of roses. Eyes fluttering open, she was greeted by a bouquet of contrasting deep, rich blood red and pure, snow-white roses, their flowers open except for the scarlet rose in the middle, its petals tight in a bud.

"These are for you." Wordlessly, Christine accepted the bouquet, her eyes wide with wonder, and her eyes raised to Erik, and small smile playing at his lips as she continued to gaze with fascination at the roses.

"Christine. I want you to open the petals of the middle rose." Erik said, his gaze wandering her face, and slowly, silent, with her breath loud in her ears, she opened the petals of the rose to find a ring nestled inside. She gasped. It was beautiful. A simple white gold band encrusted with little diamonds which accentuated the brilliant centre stone, the light dancing off of the fine glittering stones. Drawing the ring from the rose, Erik rose from his seat, and taking the ring from Christine's loose grasp, he slipped it onto the fourth finger of her left hand.

"Christine Daae, my angel, my love, my life. Will you do me the great honour of marrying me?" Erik asked, twisting her chair to face him, and sank onto bended knee before Christine, her hands grasped within his own.

"I will."

**So, they're going to be married! A lot was revealed in this chapter, and I know the pace was a bit quick, but hopefully I made it sound at least slightly realistic! **

**I was reading 'Phantom of the Opera' yesterday, and realised that there was a deeper meaning to the line; "You must know that I am made of death, from head to foot, and it is a corpse who loves you and adores you and will never, never leave you!" Is Leroux trying to tell the reader that Erik is impotent? Anyway, thank you for reading. Please review? :)**


	13. Chapter 13

(Gustave)

Unaware of his daughters' current bliss, Gustave sat alone in the tavern, slumped over his fifth consecutive tankard of cheap ale that night, deep within the slumber of drink, his rough nasal breathing disturbing the other drinkers as oblivion embraced his pounding head, no thought within his mind but the loss of his most beloved possession; his little Chrissie, her angelic face crumpled in pain as she shielded behind the shelter of her arm; bruised black and blue by his raging temper.

"Oi, wake up." A course female voice yelled into his ear, and he woke with a start, saliva running down his chin to plop into his tankard. He smacked his lips together, desperately trying to moisten his parched mouth, and rubbed his eyes, squeezing them shut tight against the brightness of the flickering candle to his hollow head.

Fumbling for his pocket, he reached inside and drew forth his pocket watch; made of solid gold with his initials engraved on the front, the last reminder of his wealth that had not been sold for heating or food. Bloodshot eyes widening at the lateness of the hour, he hurriedly replaced the item within his pocket, and stumbling to his feet, threw a handful of coins onto the table and left the establishment, repeatedly tripping over his feet and blundering into people and tables as he walked.

The moon hung resplendent in the sky, like a gleaming brilliant pearl, its' silvery rays illuminating the rippling water of the port. He turned the corner into the dark alley on his way home, drawing his thin jacket closer around his slim frame as a chill wind blew. Staggering along the cobbles, he collapsed against the brick wall, breathing heavily. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he vomited heavily against the wall, wiping his mouth upon his sleeve as he regained his breath.

Continuing on his path, he heard the almost undetectable tread of another man, and quickly turning, saw nothing but shadows and a rat scurry across the path. Shaking his head at his paranoia, he continued walking, once again hearing footsteps behind him, this time joined by another heavier tread. He increased his speed, refusing to turn, when suddenly a thick rope lasso closed around his throat, pulling his back against the firm, muscled form of a man, whilst another two men grabbed his arms to prevent him from struggling. From the shadows they appeared, seemingly detached fists repeatedly striking his body as the lasso slowly tightened. He couldn't breathe. His breath rasping, he struggled to inhale normally, fists repeatedly winding him.

His face slowly turning blue from lack of blood, shades of black infused the corners of his vision as the last of his vital oxygen supplies disappeared, and with his hands clawing in vain at the ligature around his neck, his life expired when the perpetrator jerked the rope and his hyoid bone snapped, the last fragments of his life slipping from between his parted lips. The wielder of the rope loosened its' tight grip, and Gustave's lifeless body slumped against the cool cobbles, his skull splitting upon impact. With his body still warm, the five pairs of hands roamed his body, claiming his watch, change and clothing, and with a malicious grin, each man thrust his boots into Gustave's face, making his naked form unrecognisable from the bloody mangled pulp that constituted his broken face. Their cackles of laughter bounced off the close walls of the alley, like the evil chattering of a hyena pack after kill, and in the beauty of the moonlight, the puddle of blood slowly spread, oozing from the fractured and mutilated body of Gustave Daae.

xXx

(Madame Giry)

Madame Antoinette Giry, choreographer of the corps de ballet and concierge of the Opera Populaire for just less than 20 years, knew full well of the Phantom of the Opera. In truth, she knew more of the man behind the mystery than any other member of the Opera, from the gossiping maids to the long-suffering lead soprano Carlotta Giudicelli. She was his messenger, collecting his monthly salary of 20,000 francs and ensuring his continual use of Box 5. She had not, however, heard from him in several months, their usual monthly meeting having been consecutively missed for the past three, and so with the Vicompte de Chagny's words ringing within her ears, she began her descent into the fifth cellar of the Opera House and to the home of Erik, the Phantom of the Opera.

It was not a journey she enjoyed. The unnatural chill of the sub terrain pathways caused her to rub her thin bare arms briskly, her eyes roving her surroundings in fear. 'Neigh'. She was sure that she had heard the whinny of a horse, but shaking her head, laughed at the stupidity of the thought and the absurdity of a horse being hundreds of metres below the earth. 'Neigh'. There it was again. The distinct sound of a horse. Rounding the corner, she came face to face with a pair of thoroughbred horses, their gleaming black coats as dark as midnight. She stepped closer to the animals, rubbing their silken noses, and noted the distinct white markings upon the beasts' foreheads.

'What is Erik doing with these horses?' She asked herself, knowing that they had once belonged in the stables of the Opera to be used in performance. Rubbing her palms along both horses flank, she continued on her downward journey. Down and down she went, going deeper and deeper within the earth until she came to the great murky waters of the subterranean lake outside of Erik's home.

Walking along the promenade, the sound of her shoes tapping against the wood echoing around the cavernous room, she stepped lightly into the boat, and retrieving the oar from its position lying on the floor amongst the silky lining, she began to propel her way across the stretch of deep, dark water.

xXx

(Christine)

"I will."

She could not contain the tears of joy that streamed down her cheeks as she pulled Erik from his noble position at her feet and into her embrace, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Erik's hands crept to her waist and held her close, pressing the length of her body to his. This was where she belonged. In the safety of Erik's arms. She knew that no matter what the future held, as long as she had Erik, the world would be right.

"Oh my angel, you do not know how happy you have made me. My Christine." His hands crept to her thick curls and entwined in her silky locks, inhaling their sweet scent.

Suddenly, the bell to announce visitors rung sharply, its high pitched noise shattering their embrace, and grasping Christine's soft cheeks within his large palms, Erik pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I am sorry my angel. People can be so rude. I shall go and _deal_ with our visitor and be back shortly." Erik strode from the room, in his haste forgetting to fully close the door. Sighing, Christine took a seat at the table, twisting her silky curls around and around her finger, bored without Erik beside her. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the partly opened door. Her curious nature could not be suppressed. Padding to the door on silent feet, she pressed her ear to the gap and heard Erik, his voice raised in anger, and the voice of woman. A woman? Jealousy kicked in, the image of another woman with _her_ Erik compelled her to go outside, resuming her place at Erik's side.

As both Erik and Madame Giry caught sight of Christine, they stopped their heated argument and turned to stare at her, Erik in worry and Madame Giry in confusion and surprise.

"Erik. Who is this woman?" She asked quietly, stealing quick glances at the strange, strict looking woman with her long plaited hair and sombre dress.

"Her name, Christine, is Antoinette Giry. My messenger and friend. Although she does not seem to understand the idea of privacy that is usually associated with friendship. She claims to care for me, but I'm not so sure about that matter." He said, shooting an evil look at Madame Giry, which she returned icily.

"I do care for you Erik. But this young woman? What have you done?" She asked, and Christine could see for the first time the true depth of feeling that this strange woman felt for her Erik, and immediately she took a liking to her.

"She is none of your concern. Christine and I are in love and are engaged to be married. She is not a prisoner. My door is always open to her should she wish to leave." The barely controlled anger that simmered in Erik's sensuous voice made the hairs on Christine's arm stand on edge, but Madame Giry's resolve didn't waver.

"But even if she wanted to, how could she leave Erik? We're hundreds of metres below the Opera Populaire. How could she possibly escape through your trapped passages?" Madame Giry asked, turning to Christine with a motherly look of concern, and Christine gasped in surprise. She had absolutely no idea that they were so far below the earth, and to be below the infamous Opera House and not be aware of it? Her initial wave of anger towards Erik for not telling her soon passed, and she turned to Antoinette, looking her square in the eye.

"Madame Giry. Erik is at no fault here. I love, Madame, with all of my heart. I want to stay here with him and would never, ever leave him. I thank you for your concern, it is appreciated, but we are happy together. Erik does not mean to be snappy, I know, and I apologize for him." Erik turned to her, his eyes blazing, but she smiled sweetly and snuggled closer to his arm.

"You should be thankful Antoinette that Christine is so forgiving." Erik growled, and Christine laid her hand upon his arm in a restraining manner, urging him to remain calm.

"Well, I am glad that you that finally found a woman to love you." Antoinette said with a sigh of resignation, and small triumphant smile touched the corner of Christine's lips. With a small nudge and an inclination of her head, Christine signalled for Erik to acknowledge Madame Giry. He glared at her playfully, and slipped his hand around her waist.

"Thank you for coming to bring me my salary." Erik said, his voice as smooth as silk, and Madame Giry bobbed her head.

"It is of no matter. Good day." And with a small smile, she turned and re-entered the boat, paddling her way across the lake and out of sight. Once she had left, Christine turned to Erik.

"Erik, my love, what was that about a salary? What do you do to earn a salary, and why does Madame Giry have it?" She asked innocently, and Erik's eyes immediately hardened.

"It does not matter. Suffice it to say that it does not harm anyone of importance and that they can afford it. But forget the subject. You needn't concern yourself with such trivial matters." The light returned to his golden eyes, and he guided her back inside, his arm tight around her waist in a possessive manner.

However, that was not the end for Christine. She could not stop thinking about the new information that had been revealed to her. How did Erik earn his salary? What profession did he have, for he rarely left the house? And why was Madame Giry so involved in his financial affairs. She swore to herself that she would eventually find the answers and satisfy her insatiable curiosity.

xXx

(Madame Giry)

That night, before she retired to bed, Madame Antoinette Giry sat down at her bureau, and retrieving a piece of quality paper and her fountain pen, she set about drafting a letter, the shadows from her sole flickering candle dancing upon her betrayal.

_Dear Monsieur Vicompte de Chagny,_

_I write to you in regards to information concerning the Phantom of the Opera and your search for your fiancée Christine…_


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you to all of my lovely, wonderful readers (those who review and those who don't!) This chapter is dedicated to you. Enjoy! :)**

(Raoul)

The sun streamed through the wide, open French windows to Raoul's first floor bedroom, its golden rays pooling on Raoul's pale, half naked body as he reclined languidly in bed, cocooned in silken sheets. His eyes snapped open when a sudden rap at his door disturbed his peaceful slumber.

"Yes." He called, pulling the sheet closer to his chest as he sat up in bed, his golden hair falling like a halo around his head.

"Good morning Vicompte. I have a letter for you, monsieur, from one Madame Giry." The voice of his manservant called from the other side of his oak panelled door, and Raoul's mouth dropped in astonishment. The letter could only contain one thing. Highly valuable and much needed information.

"Georges, one moment." Raoul said, and slipping from his plush bed, he retrieved his shirt and trousers from the previous day and hurriedly put them on, fumbling with the buttons as he opened the door.

"Monsieur." Georges handed his master the wax sealed letter, and nodding in thanks, Raoul quickly shut the door and almost ran to his bureau, collapsing into his leather chair as he slid his finger underneath the wax seal and tore it open, his eyes swiftly scanning the two pages of written script.

"Georges, will you tell Mamman that I must go out for a moment and that I will miss breakfast." He called to his manservant whilst tying his cravat, his fingers slipping on the soft silken fabric with his haste.

He had been summoned to the Opera with the promise of direct contact with the infamous Opera Ghost, and so dismissing his usual vanity procedures, he ran to the Opera, weaving between the crowds and avoiding the over-crowded roads.

He soon arrived, puffing and panting, and only slowed his pace once he was outside the door to Madame Giry's quarters. He stood, catching his breath and smoothing his wind-swept hair, before knocking upon the door, straining his ears for a reply.

"One moment." Madame Giry called from inside, and Raoul could hear frantic feet rushing about inside. He blushed in embarrassment, the thought of a woman getting dressed causing his cheeks to flush pink, but was soon spared when she opened the door, fully dressed with not a hair out of place, her hands upon her hips as she waited for him to catch up.

"Vicompte." She said, and he jolted to awareness at the sound of her voice, his cool blue gaze slowly lifting to hers.

"Madame. I have just received your letter. You have information?" Raoul asked, soon forgetting his embarrassment as he addressed the issue at hand, his need to find Christine over-riding everything else.

"Oui monsieur. I can take you to him. He had two horses, just as you described, and is engaged to be married to a young girl many years his junior. She is fairly tall, slim, with porcelain skin and long dark ringlets." She said, gauging Raoul's reaction, and upon the description, Raoul's face positively glowed with the thought that he had at last found Christine, _his _Christine.

"That is her. It is Christine. Oh Madame, I cannot thank you enough. Take me there now!"

Sighing, Madame Giry beckoned for Raoul to follow her, and together they set off on the long journey down to the fifth cellar.

Down and down they went, going deeper into the earth until they came to the third cellar, when Madame Giry, leading the way with a flaming beacon, stopped abruptly and turned to Raoul.

"This is as far as I dare go monsieur. Continue on this path, and where it forks, take the right path until you reach the lake. Good luck, monsieur le Vicompte." And without another word, she left, turning quickly upon her heel and began to re-climb the many steps up to the natural light of terra firma.

"Madame." He called after her slowly shrinking figure, knowing that she had not heard his plea, and that if she had, she was choosing to ignore his pathetic cry. Steeling his resolve, he mentally scolded himself, the words of his brother ringing within his ears. He was a man twenty years of age; young and brave. He would be Christine's knight in shining armour and she would love him once more like those glorious summers long ago. He was not a coward. Slowly untying his cravat, he continued to descend the unending path, his weary feet stumbling on the uneven ground.

His brain was not working at the same speed as his hasty steps and he was soon at the junction in the road. Nothing. He could not remember the words of advice given just minutes previously. Was he to take the left or the right fork? Left? Right? His mind spinning, he settled upon the left path and stepped into the enveloping shadows of disaster.

He could think of nothing but his Christine. Soon she would be his, away from the darkness and the monster that held her enslaved as his prisoner. Engaged. She was chained to a beast, her shining beauty wasted upon the hideousness of a worthless animal. He would slay the creature and return Christine to her rightful place, by his side as his wife.

A sudden flash of light within the darkness disorientated Raoul, and stumbling with the sudden shock, he fell forward into nothingness, freefalling until he hit solid ground. He groaned in pain, his head pounding. He tried to open his eyes, but could see nothing but complete darkness. He sat up, rubbing his temple in an attempt to relieve the tension, and whacked his head upon a solid surface, different from the texture of the passageways. He slowly lifted his hand and pressed it against the surface. It was cool and smooth. Like glass.

xXx

(Christine)

She could not contain the smile of bliss that lit her face upon waking. Lifting her hand, a beam of pride could not be suppressed as the light of the candle reflected off of the huge diamond that sat proud upon her fourth finger. She closed her eyes, wiggling below the covers as images danced behind her lids, standing beside her beloved Erik in a long flowing white gown, a bouquet of scarlet roses clasped within her hands on the happiest day of her life.

"Christine, my love. Are you awake?" At the sound of Erik's voice, Christine sat up in bed, nestled against her plush cushions and pillows amongst the frills of her covers as she quickly ran her fingers through the wild springs of her curls, wishing to look presentable for her true love.

"Yes Erik." She replied, pulling the covers up to her chin in an attempt at modesty, and clutched them to her chest, her eyes transfixed upon her ring.

"I am most glad that you like your ring, Christine." Erik said, observing his love regarding her ring. She lifted her large eyes to his, and frowned, noticing the mask firmly plastered on Erik's face.

"Erik. Please, do come in. I don't want my beloved standing in my doorway. I'd much rather have you closer to me, by my side. " She said, a half-sincere smile plastered upon her face. She smiled in pleasure, of course, but was furiously annoyed and frustrated at Erik's need to hide behind his mask.

"But Christine. I...cannot. You are half dressed and still abed. I...it would be most improper." He said, his eyes trained upon his highly polished shoes and Christine sighed loudly in frustration, causing Erik to raise his gaze to hers quizzically.

"Erik, please. I care not a bit for decorum. Please Erik. I need you beside me." Christine pleaded, raising her arms in signal for his much craved embraced, not caring that the covers slipped to reveal her nightdress-clad form. Unease glittered in Erik's eyes, but seeing the beseeching look upon Christine's face, his resolve crumbled and he hurried to her side, taking a seat beside Christine's eager form.

"My heart, why are you wearing your mask? I thought you knew that my love for you could surpass all earthly barriers. It pains me, Erik, to see you put a wall up between us." Christine said, pain lacing her voice as the tears formed beneath her lids. It was like a knife to her breast to see her Erik shut himself away from her, to distance himself from her and her love. She promised herself that she would show Erik the strength of her love from him, his faults and all.

"I am more comfortable doing so Christine. For so long I have been compelled to hide away, to use this...this mask as a shield to protect the world from my accursed ugliness. It has been too long. I cannot easily be changed." He almost growled, pain lacing his silken voice as he pointed at his porcelain face with one long, bony finger.

"But I know that it pains you Erik. I have seen with my own eyes the marks where the mask has cut into your skin and made it bleed. I love you, and your face holds no concern for me. I would like you to try, for me." She could not contain the pain from her voice, her love for Erik so strong. Hands shaking, she took Erik's hands within her own and placed them against his face, slowly removing his mask to reveal his scarred and deformed appearance.

His eyes wide with fear of rejection, Christine wrapped her arms around his skeletal frame and pressed his naked face to her breast, rocking him gently as he wept like a child, soaking the thin cotton of her nightgown as the tears slowly plopped from her eyes onto his wig clad head.

Withdrawing his head from her ample bosom, he gazed her squarely in the eyes, his slim hand resting against the plush flesh of her cheek.

"You are far too good for poor, miserable Erik. Far too good, my angel." He whispered, and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. "I must deal with some...unpleasant business, so I would be much obliged if you would remain in here. But I will soon return." And brushing his mangled cheek against her silken cheek, he hastily departed from her room, leaving her sitting, dumbstruck, in bed, gazing day-dreamingly at the recently departed room.

What sort of unpleasant business could Erik be referring to? Her curiosity got the better of her, and retrieving her wrapper from behind her door, she slipped from her room, following the sound of Erik's voice.

This was a part of the house that she had never entered before. Hidden behind a door never unlocked, half of the room had been divided into a sort of large glass box whilst the other half remained a fairy normal, albeit empty room. She stepped up behind Erik, wondering his business, when she glimpsed a flash of blonde hair from within the glass box and gasped in shock. She immediately pressed her hands to her mouth, but it was too late, for Erik spun on his heel, his golden eyes blazing at her.

"I thought I told you to remain in your room Christine. Why can't you obey simple instructions?" He yelled, causing Christine to shrink in horror as Erik's face contoured in rage. She raised her arm, a long ingrained attempt at defence from merciless blows, and Erik's anger immediately subsided at the pitiful, heart-wrenching image.

"Oh Christine. You have Erik's sincerest apologizes. I did not mean to scare you. Can you forgive me?" He asked, his tense frame slowly relaxing as his hard eyes softened lovingly.

"Of course Erik." She whispered, a small smile twitching at the corner of her lips, and made a step towards the glass , when she was stopped by Erik.

"Christine, please return to your room." Erik whispered, his voice clipped with barely suppressed anger and Christine's lower lip trembled.

"Whatever it is Erik, please share it with me. Open your heart to me, Erik, and let me in. Let me help you." She whispered, grasping his hand and pressing it to her heaving heart.

"Christine." He whispered, his eyes watching Christine's movements as she stepped up to the glass, pressing her hands against the glass as she regarded the young dishevelled blonde man within the glass room, his face familiar to her and his name on the tip of her tongue. She scanned her memories, knowing that she had met this man before.

"Raoul." She whispered, remembering the youth from her childhood who had first held her heart, and she felt Erik step close behind her.

"It seems young man that my fiancée knows you. Perhaps I will not be killing you just yet." Erik called, watching Raoul's face as he lifted his eyes and began to rove as he tried to target the source of the voice. He stepped up to the window and began to bang on the glass, the knocks reverberating around the room.

"We can see him, but he cannot see us my dearest. That is the beauty of one-way glass." He whispered to Christine, stating the latter part loud enough for Raoul to hear.

Christine could see Raoul mouthing words, desperately trying to converse with her, but she could not hear what he was saying.

"Why is he here Erik?" S he asked, turning her wide gaze to his and he gazed back, his eyes full of pure excitement and glee.

"Well, my darling. He says that he has come to rescue you. Rather pathetic, don't you think?" He said, and began to laugh manically, watching with a cool gaze as Raoul's movements became more frantic as the heat within the room slowly increased to become that of the sub-Saharan desert.

"Erik. What is happening to him?" She asked desperately, watching with horror as Raoul became more agitated; sweat dripping from his brow as he began to remove the outer layers of his clothing.

"Why, it is most clever Christine, if I do say so myself. It is a torture chamber, you see. The temperature of the room slowly increases, and as the temperature rises, the victim begins to hallucinate and becomes more and more disorientated. Eventually, they will commit suicide through sheer madness. Ingenious, wouldn't you agree?" He asked, smiling manically at the thought, and Christine's eyes widened in horror.

"Erik, no. Please don't do this. He doesn't deserve to die." She cried, grasping his hand pleadingly, but he pulled it from her desperate grasp and rounded on her, his eyes blazing with fury.

"So my little Christine has feelings for this handsome young man, does she? Well it all makes sense to Erik now. He has been deceived. Why else would Christine want this young man to live unless she loved him?" He asked, his eyes trained upon Raoul as his movements became more erratic.

"I don't love him Erik. I love you, and only you. But I don't want him to die. It is not right, Erik. You are not a murderer. Please, let him go. He doesn't deserve to die." She said pleadingly, placing one hand upon Erik's sunken cheek so he had no choice but to look directly at her.

"Please Erik. For me?" She whispered, seeing Erik's resolve crumbling before her eyes, and she smiled lovingly at him, which he slowly returned.

"For you, Christine, I would die. Your wish is my command." He whispered to her, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Young man. It seems that you are not to die tonight by my hand. Your life is spared due to the caring nature of _my _fiancée. You shall be free to go, _alone. My_ Christine shall remain here with me. If you would care to turn, you will see a door within the glass pane, go through it and continue on the path and you will soon be out into the fresh air of the Paris morning. But should you attempt to come here again, you will not be treated so kindly." Erik said, his tone clipped, and it was apparent that his words were true. Christine grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly, as they both watched Raoul attempt to signal to Christine.

"GO! NOW!" Erik yelled, and a look of pure fright crossed Raoul's face as he stumbled to the door, and fumbling for the concealed knob, turned it and departed from the glass room, glancing back longingly in Christine's direction as he left.

Turning to face Christine, a smile playing upon his lips, Erik wrapped Christine within his embrace and whispered in her ear. "I believe, my angel, that that is the last we shall ever see of that dear young fellow."

**My beloved readers. I'm really sorry, but I'm going to be away from an internet connection for three weeks, and so I won't be able to post another chapter in that time. But I promise that when I return, updates will continue every Thursday. Thank you **


	15. Chapter 15

**To my beloved readers. I'm so sorry that it has taken so long for an update. I got home from holiday last night and literally typed like mad to transfer the chapter onto my laptop. I hope that this chapter serves as an appropriate apology!**

(Raoul)

He stumbled through the darkened passageways; the flickers of the torches ensconced in their holders upon the walls the only source of light to illuminate his way. His mind spun with thoughts of Christine. Nothing but his beloved filled his mind. His innocent beauty was chained to a hideous monster, an abomination, a freak against nature. Such creatures did not deserve to live. They should be crushed like a beetle underfoot. How could it be that a hideous monster like him could have a girl like Christine fawning over him, whereas a young man of exceptional beauty and wealth could not muster even a smile from her angelic, rosebud lips. It was not fair. A Vicompte _always_ got what he wanted.

It struck him. As he leaned heavily against the wall, winching as the slimy substance that coated the walls seeped into the fine cotton of his shirt, he realised that the only way to set Christine free from the chains of her oppression to that hideous beast was to betray him, to tell on him. It was childish, he knew, but he was prepared to use any means to re-secure him fiancée. It would not be right for him to lose him prize. What would society think of him? A weak Vicompte losing his love to a hideous freak. He shuddered at the thought. With a flash, he recalled the headline of 'Le Monde' that he had scanned this morning whilst he hastily dressed; that Christine's father, Gustave Daae, had been viciously murdered the previous night and that the police were beginning their investigation and hunting for his killer. He would tell the police that he knew of the killer's whereabouts and would lead them directly to _that _creature. And then Christine would be his once more.

Through the darkness, the first rays of natural light began to pierce the oppressive shadows, and the echoing sound of Raoul's stumbling footsteps and the constant drip of sub-terrainean water supplies, he breathed a sigh of relief, soon breaking through the gloom onto the crowded Rue Scribe that ran the perimeter of the magnificent Opera Populaire. A few passing ladies shot curious glances at the dishevelled state of his attire, but he cared not the slightest. Through the grime that caked his clothes and matted his hair, he was unrecognisable to high-society as the proud Vicompte de Chagny.

'I must go immediately and refresh myself and then take my carriage to the local gendarme and tell them all I know.' He thought, returning the confused and questioning looks as he meandered his way through the morning crowds on the busy Parisian streets.

xXx

(Christine)

"My angle, I do not deserve you." Erik said, his eyes locking with Christine's over the mahogany dinner table as she bit into the fluffy, crumbly pastry of her croissant, a smile upon her lips at his words.

"Oh Erik, how can you say such things my silly love. It should be I saying it to you, my heart. It was you who raised me from the hurt and the suffering of poverty and took me under your splendid golden wings to raise me with your love and devotion. Without you, Erik, I would have surely died at the hands of my father." Her voice trailed off as thoughts of her father filled her mind and the changes in his character that poverty had wrought.

"Do you miss him Christine?" His eyes searching hers for reassurance, dreading the thought that his angel would feel anything but happiness.

"No...not the way he is now, but the way he was, when I was younger and before my mother died. But with her loss, he changed for the worse. But I have my memories of the happier times. So no." She said, a small smile playing upon her lips to console Erik, and she reached across the table and squeezed his hand lovingly.

"Come, let us not dwell on such subjects my love. My happiness at our engagement and my love for you surpass all other cares and worries." She smiled at him, and Erik returned her smile, his eyes alight with an inner fire of raging emotion that made them look like puddles of molten gold. They returned to their breakfast, Erik refilling their teacups with fresh, steaming aromatic coffee.

"Erik, this breakfast is most delicious." Christine said, dabbing her lips upon a crisp napkin after swallowing the last mouthful of coffee.

"You praise me too much my angel. I'm afraid that you could find more delicious pastries in any patisserie in Paris, but I am improving." Erik said with a smile, and Christine laughed, like innocent song of a nightingale.

"Nonsense Erik. As your future wife, I tell you that pastries do not come tastier than this, I swear." Christine said sincerely with a hint of humour, and leaning across the table, playfully wiped a spot of jam from the corner of Erik's twisted lip, and slowly, her eyes locked with his, licked the sweet splodge from her fingertip, watching his pupils dilate and the inaudible sigh fall from his parted lips.

"My little temptress." Erik moaned, and roughly locked his lips with hers, his tongue darting out to lick the seam of her lips, and she sighed, he hands fisting in the thick material of Erik's woollen coat. She pulled away slowly, her ample chest heaving with her laboured breathing, and slid her hands up Erik's thin back to lock around his neck. Slowly unlocking her fingers, she stood up from her seat and walked around to Erik' side, grasping his hands that had fallen limply into his lap.

"Erik." Christine said questioningly. "Can I ask you for something?" She asked, unconsciously fluttering her eyelashes.

"Anything my love."

"Can you please give me another singing lesson? I so enjoyed our last." She said, falling to her knees beside Erik's prone figure.

"Most heartily, my angel. Let us go." Erik said, raising Christine to her feet and planting a kiss on her glowing, rosy cheek.

xXx

(Raoul)

Freshly coiffure and smelling of heady, expensive cologne, Raoul stepped from his carriage outside the richly ornate and impressive doors of the gendarmerie de Paris, his hand deep within his waistcoat pocket, fingering his expensive, monogrammed pocket-watch for luck, not that he needed it of course, for a Vicompte was brave and strong and handsome he kept telling himself like a mantra.

"Wait for me here Victor. I shall not be long." He called to his coachman, pressing a sous into his palm with a withering look, warning him not to depart or breathe a word.

He walked through the ornate doors, his head held high with all the arrogance afforded to his title and stepped up to the front desk, scanning his surroundings for signs of impending danger or threat. A gaggle of people loitered around the surprisingly sparsely furnished walls of the small room but he paid them little attention.

Returning his attention to the counter, he saw a man reclining in his chair behind the divide, his uniform crumpled in his hasty sleep. Raoul coughed to attract his attention, which failed to work as the man continued to snore, snuffling like the wild boar that Raoul would shoot during the long summer retreat to the de Chagny country abode.

"Excuse me." Raoul said impatiently, coughing again but louder. With a snuffle, the man awoke, blinking rapidly for several moments as his eyes refocused upon the arrogant, impatient face of Raoul.

"What do you want monsieur?" He man said, rubbing his eyes and stretching his back like a cat, his eyes taking in Raoul's expensive attire.

"I have information regarding the murder of Gustave Daae." He said levelly, his voice cool with scorn and indifference to the man his social inferior. He was better than this man and was only here to get his Christine back. He felt a hand trail slowly down his back, making a downward descend down across the thick, rich woollen material of Raoul's coat.

"Madame. Please remove your hand." Raoul said coldly, his hands fisting by his sides, refusing to meet the gaze of the mysterious woman.

"Don't you want some fun handsome?" She asked, laughing hoarsely, and Raoul shuddered.

"Remove your hand Madame. Or I will." He said, remaining impassive as she slowly removed her hand, passing it swiftly across the perkiness of his cheeks.

"Well monsieur, perhaps you had better follow me." The man said, clearly having ignored Raoul's recent assault, and beckoning with his hand, Raoul followed the man, levelly meeting the gaze of the gaudy prostitute. He followed the man through a series of winding corridors, meeting each questioning glance of passing officers, until eventually they arrived at a non-descript wooden door, which the man knocked upon and then entered.

"I'm sorry to trouble you Monsieur le préfet de Gendarme, but this man claims he has information regarding last nights' murder, of Gustave Daae." The man said nervously, shuffling his feet as he spoke to the back of the chair of his superior.

"Bring him in." The voice from the chair said, a wreath of fine blue cigarette smoke dancing above the fine leather chair. The petty officer beckoned for Raoul to enter, and then swiftly shut the door behind him, the sound of his rapid footsteps echoing around the empty corridor.

"Is it true?" The man asked, and Raoul assented, slightly annoyed at talking to the back of someone. Just as that thought passed his mind, the man spun around in his chair, blowing a thin coil of smoke from between his parted lips languidly.

"Oui monsieur." Raoul said, reading the cold, bored look upon the chief's face. The man's green eyes reminded Raoul of a cat's, pinning him like a mouse, and he shrank under his penetrating gaze.

"What do you know?" He asked, his hand dancing in the air, twirling with the swirls of the smoke to then toy with the buttons of his waistcoat.

"I know where the murderer lives. He is truly an abomination and I would not be doing my duty if I did not report such people to you. I can take you there now." Raoul said, a smile tugging at his lips as he noticed the man sit up in his chair and slowly flick his cigarette into a gilded ashtray.

"And you are certain that this gentleman is the killer we are hunting?" The chief asked, resting his feet up on the edge of his desk and carefully crossing his ankles, drawing heavily on his cigarette.

"I have no doubt about it. He is guilty. I...I was witness to his crime. He would have killed me too if I had not fled." Raoul said, embellishing his story to make it more believable. He needed this man to believe him.

"That may be so, but how do you know his residence?" He man asked, examining his manicured nails with a sudden interest and Raoul sighed at the man's impudence.

"Suffice it to say, monsieur, that I am a man with _great _influence. I can swear that he is the perpetrator of this most heinous crime." Raoul said, sitting on the edge of the chief's desk, and the man slowly lowered his legs and fixed Raoul with a look that could only be taken as complete surprise.

" Well then, show me the way." The man said, and collecting his coat and hat from a peg by the door, he rushed out of the room, beckoning for Raoul to follow, calling for his men to pursue.

xXx

(Christine)

The note died upon her lips, echoing around the cavernous room, and a look of pure, intense surprise danced in her eyes. Never before had such _beauty_ poured from her throat.

"Christine." Erik was as speechless as she was. Pride glowed in his eyes and he spun around on his piano stool and strode the short distance to Christine's side, collapsing at her feet.

"My angel. You are truly fitting of your name. Such beauty should not belong on earth. It should be for the pleasure of the divine only." Erik whispered, kissing Christine's small white feet, and she blushed in pleasure. She was un-used to such compliments.

"Please Erik. Stop. I don't deserve such words of praise." She whispered pleadingly, placing her slim hands upon his hunched shoulders, and pressed a kiss to his sparsely covered skull, laying her plump cheek against his head and inhaling his intoxication aroma.

"How wrong my darling is. How wrong." Erik breathed, and slowly rising to his feet, swept Christine into his arms. He returned to his seat, placing Christine snug by his side, and wrapped her in his arms, laying his poor head against the silky skin of her throat.

"My life with you Erik is more than sufficient praise. Now, I could not image a life different to the one I am living. Here, with you, is where I want to be. Forever."


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you for the lovely reviews. It reminds me that there are still people out there reading my crazy outpourings of thought. So thank you. Enjoy!

(Christine)

"My life with you Erik is more than sufficient praise. Now, I could not image a life different to the one I am living. Here, with you, is where I want to be. Forever." She whispered, grasping his face between her petite hands and forcing him to look at her directly.

"I will not lie Erik. When I was a little girl, I did picture myself living in a big house by the sea with lots of children surrounding me and a young husband by my side." She said, but seeing the slightly angry and hurt look upon Erik's face, soothingly stroked Erik's twisted cheek and continued speaking." But that was all before I met you, and everything paled in comparison. How could I possibly desire those things when I am blessed with you by my side, teaching me what it means to be loved and opening my heart and soul to your beauty and wisdom. I could never want anyone but you. Ever. You are my everything." She whispered, the tears welling in her eyes, and gently wiped the tears that had pooled on Erik's lower lids.

"Christine. My Christine." Erik choked, crushing Christine's slim frame tight against him, and she could fell the gentle thud of his heart through his prominent rib cage and his laboured breathing stirred the loose tendrils of hair that curled at her neck.

"Let me make us some tea." Christine said, slowly rising to her feet and squeezing Erik's vacant hands reassuringly. The simple nod of assent sent Christine's heart into overload, the pitiful action that tugged at her heart strings of a man so powerful and complex sunk so low with grief and pain. She would rid his heart and mind of any lingering doubt or suffering.

"I love you." She mouthed, and her cheeks glowed when he returned the declaration. Christine slipped into the kitchen, wiping her eyes on her loose, lacy sleeve and retrieved a heavy, thick based saucepan to heat the water in, which she set on the lit stove-top. While it slowly heated, she fetched the tea caddy and sugar from the store cupboard and the thick, rich cream from the larder. 'I need a teapot.' She suddenly thought to herself, and placing the items on the counter, went to the cupboard where tea items were normally stored. She searched the whole cupboard, her slim hands reaching into the dark corners, before she sank back on her heels, her brow creased in confusion.

"Erik. Can you come and help me a moment please. I seem to have misplaced the teapot." Christine called, walking to the stove to tear the hob off as the water was boiling rapidly. Suddenly the air minutely stirred behind her and the little hairs on the back on her neck raised, and gasping, she spun around...to be face to face with Erik, pressing a bony finger to her plush lips before she could make a sound.

"Oh Erik. You startled me." She whispered, her hands pressed to her chest to calm her racing heart as she observed Erik, his eyes roaming the room and frequently returning to the doorway.

"I must apologise Christine. But it is paramount that you remain silent." Erik said, and Christine gazed at him in curiosity. His eyes falling up the tea items, he added. " Leave this." and grasping her by the wrist, led her to the entrance of the bathroom, his hands resting upon her shoulders.

"What's the matter Erik. What's happening?" She asked, and once again Erik pressed a finger to her lips.

"I believe we have an intruder. Or more correctly several. They are outside or the jetty at this moment, planning on 'finding the monster' and 'slaying the beast'." Erik said coldly, and Christine gasped in horror. He saw her reaction and a smile tugged at his lips. " You probably do not want to hear this, my angel, but your young man is among them. In fact, he is leading the hunt." Erik said, and Christine's knees shook beneath her.

"Are you certain Erik. How can you be sure." She asked, trembling with fear and Erik rubbed her arms soothingly.

"I have ears everywhere. I have long been prepared for a day like this. We cannot face a mob, for they know only pain and suffering. I would be killed and you...we must not let it happen. Quickly fetch just your essentials and return here." Erik said, and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, he store into his into room. Gathering her senses, Christine rushed into her room and headed straight for her wardrobe, retrieving a heavy woollen cloak and a sturdy leather bag, into which she stuffed as much as she could; her favourite dress ripped hastily from its hanger, her favourite pair of shoes bundled into the bag and other items of clothing, not knowing where they would be heading. She ran to her armoire, picking up her hairbrush and hand mirror and stuffing her jewellery and items into the bag, tears in her eyes at the things she would have to leave behind and the memories they held.

She flew to Erik, who was waiting with a similar hold-all clutched tightly in his hand, and stood panting slightly at the exertion, not knowing where they could possibly go to escape. Erik smiled and stroked her cheek.

"As I said my darling, I have long planned for this day. Follow me and do not panic." Erik said, and grasping Christine's free hand, they walked into the bathroom. Erik slowly stopped into the bathtub and Christine looked at him in confusion and surprise, thinking that he had temporarily taken leave of his senses. He smiled at her and inclined his head, and smiling, Christine followed Erik's lead and also stepped into the tub.

"Watch this." Erik whispered, wincing at the sound of boots pounding at the door and the creak of the metal bolts supporting it. Placing his bag down at his feet, he grasped each tap in his hands and pushed forwards with all his might.

With a mighty creak, the section of the wall slowly rotated and then they were on the other side of the wall. Erik stepped out of the bath, proffering his hand, and grasping it tightly, Christine slowly stepped out. Once her feet touched the ground, the wall heavy and slowly rotated back to its original position so that should anyone search the bathroom, they would be none the wiser as to their escape route.

"Oh Erik." Christine whispered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation, and Erik enveloped her within his arms, burying his face in the mass of her hair. "What about all of your belongings. Surely they will be destroyed." Christine asked, raising her tear stained face from the comfort of Erik's lapels.

"Do not fret my angel. I can live without material goods, for I have my most precious belonging with me already." Erik said, pressing a kiss to Christine's forehead, and she smiled through her tears. "I have my compositions and violin within this bag, along with a few other items. I do regret not being able to take my organ, but I will find another." He said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"What are we to do Erik?" Christine asked, disliking the dampness of the cold of the passage and returning to the warmth and security of Erik's arms.

"Trust me Christine. You are in no danger. Hold my hand and I will take you away from here, from the gloom of the shadows and into the light, where you belong." Erik said reassuringly, and Christine nodded, a smile on her lips. Grasping his hand firmly, she picked up her case and followed his thought the darkness of the passage, shielding in fright from the rats and spider that occasionally scuttled by her feet or brushed against her skin. It was pitch black and she could see very little aside from the faint outline of Erik's form. Not having a torch or lantern, it was disconcerting to her, but she figured that Erik must have been accustomed to the shadows, living so far beneath the earth.  
It seemed liked miles that they walked, Christine's weary feet carrying her without thought through the twisting passages, although in reality they had not travelled very far when the first rays of light began to break through the confining darkness.

"Are we nearly there Erik, wherever we're going?" Christine asked, a hint of playfulness in her weary tone, and Erik stopped walking, transferred the bag into his shoulder and swept Christine up into his arms bridal-style, placing Christine's bag over his other shoulder.

"No Erik. Please put me down. It's not fair to make you carry me. I'm too heavy and you've got the bags as well. I can walk." She protested, but the words died on her lips with the loom that Erik gave her.

"Do not say such things. It is no burden to carry you. It is unfair of Erik to make you walk so far." Erik said, pressing her slim form closer to his chest, and Christine knew that no matter how much she tried to protest, she would be wasting her breath. She snuggled closer to Erik's warm body and pressed a kiss over his beating heart, her head falling back into the crook of his arm as the gentle, gliding movement of Erik walking rocked her to sleep.

"Sleep my angel. Erik will care for you." Erik whispered, his silky voice dropping like molten gold into Christine's ear, causing her to smile in her sleep, and he pressed a kiss to her plump, rosebud lips, his heart swelling with emotion at the slumbering beauty in his arms.

xXx

(Raoul)

"Are you sure this is the place Monsieur. You are not just leading us on a wild goose chase?" The inspector asked, his torch held aloft to brighten the shadows that so terrified him. He stuck close to his men, his heart pounding in fear, and waved his torch frantically, the murky waters of the great lake playing with his imagination.

"Oui Monsieur le préfet de Gendarme. He lives here. He has a young girl with him, of no more than seventeen, who he has made his slave. I shudder to imagine the sort of things that the monster would be doing to an innocent beauty like her." Raoul said, his cheeks dusting a faint pink at the truth of his words. He hadn't meant to reveal so much to these strangers.

"Stop blabbering, Monsieur. You may be a Vicompte, but that does not give you the right to stand idly talking whilst we are at work. Gentlemen." The chief said, turning his attention from an embarrassed Raoul to his Gendarmes who were just emerging from the freezing depths and pulling themselves onto the jetty. Of course, being of such importance, Raoul and the chief had taken the boat across the lake whilst the rest of the men had been forced to swim behind.

With the command, the men marched orderly to the door and in turn kicked and heaved at the wood with all of their might, falling back into line and rubbing their injured shoulders. It was not long before all the men had tested themselves against the door, which appeared to have not given one bit, when Raoul pushed them aside and strode to the door, thoughts of Christine revolving within his mind. He was so close to his goal, he could almost taste her lips which would kiss him in gratitude for rescuing her from the clutches of the monster. He took a deep breath, and steeling himself, rammed his shoulder against the door. Pain, like a hot burning knife, shot through his shoulder and down his body and he cried out in pain, tears burning hot in his eyes.

He blinked away the tears, refusing to let the men see his momentary weakness, and tried again, this time with his foot. The door shattered, breaking inwards, and Raoul nearly collapsed forward with the force. He had succeeded. The men would admire him for his courage and strength.

"Follow me men." the chief of the gendarme said, storming through the doorway and into the house. Raoul followed behind, reminiscent of a knight on horseback rescuing the damsel in distress. He sped from room to room, frantically searching through any potential hiding spaces and pushing the gendarme aside to find his prize whilst they loaded their pockets with bounty.

"Where is she?" He yelled in frustration, quickly adding 'he' as if his first exclamation had been a mistake.

"He is not here monsieur. We have searched the whole house. It seems that he was here recently and fled in a hurry, for there is still a pan of water on the hob." One of the braver gendarmes said to his chief and Raoul, and both sighed in annoyance, although one was more agonised than the other.

'How can she have escaped me. She is mine. I swear, if I have to search every inch of this country, I will find her. They shall not leave the country. I will have her by my side." Raoul vowed, determination clear in his tone as he whispered the promise to himself, and with a roared obscenity, left the gendarme and their chief to ransack the place, a plan resolving in his mind.

xXx

(Christine)

Gradually the light filtered through Christine's eyelids and they slowly flickered open, scanning her surroundings. She was sat, her body reclining against Erik's, inside a phaeton, it's hood pulled forward to shield her from the direct sunlight and for protection from curious gazes. Two midnight black horses with a small white heart shaped marking on their flanks pulled their carriage, trotting through the open countryside.

"Where are we Erik?" Christine asked, rubbing her eyes and stretching her back like a lazy cat. Erik turned to face her, the reins tightening in his hands, a pressed a chaste kiss to her peachy cheek.

"Nearly there my angel." He said, smiling at the adorable furrow that appeared between her eyebrows as she tried to think through a sleep-addled brain.

"But where is there Erik."She asked, hating not knowing their destination. she had always been a curious children and every Christmas, when her mother was alive, she would always spoil the surprise by creeping downstairs before even the servants were awake and seeking a peek at her gifts. She glared at Erik in mock frustration and leant her head back against his shoulder, deeply inhaling his rich, overpowering scent.

"You'll see soon enough. Rest your pretty head and before long we will be there." Erik said reassuringly and Christine willingly complied, snuggling her head against his arm and falling back into the realm of oblivion, a smile on her lips.

"Christine! Christine! Wake up darling. We have arrived." Erik said, gently shaking Christine's shoulder, and she started from dreams, her eyes snapping open.

"Oh I'm sorry Erik." Christine muttered, being swept up into Erik's arms and set down on her feet outside the phaeton.

"I want you to close your eyes Christine and hold my hand." Erik said, retrieving the bags from the back of the phaeton and grasping Christine's hand. With a smile, he passed his hand across her eyes and she slowly closed them, gripping Erik's hand tightly, and followed his lead, her feet crunching on the gravel beneath them. Suddenly Erik stopped and went to stand behind her, grasping her gently about the waist.

"Open." Erik whispered into her ear, and her lids fluttered open to be greeted with the sight of the most gorgeous house she had ever seen. A two storey honey coloured rectangular stone building with little white shutters and trailing roses climbing the face of the building.

"Oh Erik, its lovely. I...I can't believe it. I..." Christine stuttered, her heart overflowing with emotion and pride.

"Erik built it himself you know. He's had a lot of time on his hands and has put it to good use." Erik said, watching Christine's eyes widen in surprise and she spun around and wrapped him in his arm, pressing her smile face into his chest. "Everything will be alright my darling from now on. Erik gives you his word."


	17. Chapter 17

(Christine)

"Erik built it himself you know. He's had a lot of time on his hands and has put it to good use." Erik said, watching Christine's eyes widen in surprise and she spun around and wrapped him in her arms, pressing her smile face into his chest."Everything will be alright my darling from now on. Erik gives you his word."

"Can we go inside Erik? I want to see everything!" Christine said, a look of pure excitement and glee upon her face, and Erik smiled at her, the corner of his mask lifting. With trembling fingers, Christine's fingers sought the edge of Erik's face and gently removed it, gauging his reaction. A tentative smile tugged at the corner of their lips, and Christine closed the gap between them and pressed her smiling lips against Erik's, her slender arms locking round Erik's neck, their lips cautiously moving in sync. With a surge of courage, Christine caught Erik's lower lip between her teeth and gently bit, her arms supporting Erik's limp figure as his knees collapsed beneath him, a sigh falling from between his lips.

Panting slightly, Christine broke the kiss, picking up her bag, and gathering the material of her skirt in her hand, she ran through the arched entrance to their front-garden, her feet flying on the gravel as her ears sought the sound of Erik's tread.

She stopped outside the front door, dropping her bag at her feet. She kept her face to the door, a smile on her lips at the sound of Erik's approaching footsteps, and waited for him to startle her. Nothing. She spun around to find an empty garden, with no Erik in sight.

"Erik? Erik! Where are you?" She called, her eyes scanning the garden for any potential hiding places. Where was he? She rubbed her arm, feeling suddenly lonely and vulnerable. She turned around, crouching down to retrieve her cloak from her bag for comfort.

"Christine." A silky voice whispered in her ear, causing the hairs to stand on her neck, and she hurriedly stood, finding herself swept up into Erik's arm.  
"What are you doing Erik? Where were you? I was worried." Christine wined, lightly tapping Erik's chest in mild annoyance and he pressed a kiss to her pursed lips.

"Erik must apologise. He did not mean to upset his Christine. He thought perhaps it might be a...joke?" He said, bending to pick up Christine's bag, and he crossed to the front door, retrieving a brass key from his inner pocket that glinted in the sunlight. She marvelled at his ability to manage so much at once, but her thoughts were interrupted when they stepped across the threshold.

"Welcome home my angel." Erik whispered into her ear, grasping her wild curls in his hand and pressing a kiss to the length of her creamy neck. She was speechless. It was...simply beautiful. A light, bright hallway richly furnished with plush rugs and paintings and vases of tumbling pastel roses, their sweet aroma infusing the air. To the side was a wide, curving staircase that spiral up to the next floor. She felt her mouth fall open, which was noticed by Erik, who gently cupped her chin in his hand and shut it, caressing her silken flesh.  
"Follow me." He crooned, and she grasped his hand, stepping over their belongs and following his lead into the adjoining rooms.

xXx

(Raoul)

"I cannot believe this. How could she have escaped me. She is mine. Argh." Raoul growled, lashing out the nearest object to hand, which happen to be a vase of roses which fell to the floor, shards of glass flying, and soaking the plush Persian carpet.

"Damn it all." He roared, bending to gently gather the roses within his hands, the shards of glass crunching beneath the soles of his boots. He buried his face in the silky softness of their petals, imagining it to be the softness of Christine's flesh, and inhaled the heady, intoxicating scent, his eyelids fluttering shut with pleasure.

He would find a way to locate Christine. Wherever she was, he would find her. They couldn't get very far, a hideously deformed man wearing a snow white mask. People would be sure to notice. He would offer a reward for the capture of the monster, and then see about his trail and execution. And then Christine would be his. It would all be worth it, the aggravation and expensive, when she became his trophy wife, to present to society and hang on his arm at galas.

"I must go and speak to le préfet de Gendarme. He has legal power and I have wealth. Together we can trap this monster before he claims my Christine. Forever." He said, rising to his feet, and letting the roses fall from his grip, he grounded them beneath the toe of his boot, a malicious smirk disfiguring his handsome face.

xXx

(Christine)

Her mind was ablaze with the images of other rooms; the bright and open space of the dining room with its crystal chandelier and the library, with shelf upon shelf of leather bound books. And the garden. Well, what could say. The formal garden with gravel pathways, marble fountains and bed upon bed of flowers. Not forgetting the acres of surrounding land, the stables and the river. Never before had she been so overwhelmed and utterly speechless.

The had at last arrived at the final rooms, their bedrooms, and a faint blush rose to Christine's cheeks. Her eyes settled upon the finely carved wood of the door, her eyes tracing the trailing rose carving.

"What is the matter my angel?" Erik asked, concern in his molten eyes, and Christine sighed, lifting her eyes to his.

"Is this...our room?" She asked timidly, biting her lip, and Erik's lips twitched.  
"Oh my angel, no. This is your room. Your own, private bedroom." He said, cupping her cheek in his palm, and she turned her head and pressed a kiss to his cold skin.

"Come inside." He said, and turning the doorknob, they walked into her room, Erik leading with Christine trailing behind. Her room was, like all the others, breathtaking. Maple paneling lined the walls, with a trailing rose carved border, and wide French windows opened out onto a stone balcony with a view of the surrounding countryside. Her eyes fell upon her bed, with it's curved wooden headboard and plush pink and cream pillows and throws. A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room, it's light reflecting in the many mirrors that lined the walls. And in the corner sat her own writing desk, armoire and wardrobe of cream, with curved intricate legs and handles of brass. Her eyes widened, and laughing in delight, she wrapped her arms around Erik's thin frame and pressed her smiling face to his chest, her laugh contagious.

"Erik is so pleased. He is happy to see his Christine so happy and excite. It warms his old heart." He said, wrapping his arms around Christine's slim waist. "Go and look in your dresser." He whispered into her ear, patting her backside in a friendly manner to move her, and turning to cheekily stick her tongue out at him, she ran to her wardrobe and flung open the doors, her jaw dropping open at the array before her. Rack upon rack of clothing of varying shades for the different seasons, as well as shoes, underwear and outerwear. She gasped at the amount of trouble that Erik would have gone to to collect such items. She blushed at the thought of Erik purchasing women's underwear, the imaginary look of horror upon his face making her smile.

"Oh Erik. You really shouldn't have done." Christine said, slowly shutting the doors and turning to face Erik. She crossed the room, stepping into his welcome embrace, and sighed in satisfaction.

"It was no trouble. Erik must admit though these clothes were not made specifically for you. He...I..these clothes have been here a long time. When I needed to get away, to clear my head from the oppressive music that pounded within my brain, I would come here and spend hours wrapping in these clothes, imagining a woman inside them. It shames me to admit it. They will probably be too big. Erik...I apologise." He said, his eyes darkened and his face creasing in pain, and Christine raised her eyes to his, pressing a silencing finger to his lips.

"You do not need to explain Erik. I understand."

"Thank you." He said simply, bowing his head with a natural feline grace, and Christine's heart-rate increased.

"Can I see your room now." She asked, grasping his cold hand within the warmth of hers and tugging slightly.

"But of course." He replied smoothly, and led the way to a little door set into the corner of the room.

"Open it." he prompted, and gazing at Erik dreamily, she slowly turned the knob. Inside was pink marble bathroom, with a grand, intricate mirror lining one wall and a pink marble tub with curved legs and brass taps of hot and cold water. Candle holders, in the shape of roses, were ensconced upon the wall, their soft light illuminating the room.

"This is wonderful Erik. But it's not your room!" She added playfully, and his lips twitched at her amusement.

"How silly of me. It must be this way." He said, leading her across the room to another door. With a shaking hand, he grasped the knob and slowly turned, revealing to Christine's curious gaze his bedroom.

It was similar to hers, but the paneling upon the walls was of a darker wood and thick, heavy drapes hung from the windows, shading the room and making a lot darker than hers. She realised that it was a huge effort for Erik to live about ground, and so this was his way of coping with being in the light. She vowed to herself that that would soon be changed. Her eyes roved his room, noticing the thick plush dark carpet and writing desk stacked high with hundreds of hastily scrawled papers. And then her eyes settled upon his bed. It was so big, with black silken covers and a scarlet throw. She gulped audibly, the thought of being so close to Erik in such an intimate situation; each alone in bed separated by only a wall.

"Shush my love. You have no need to be afraid. Even when we are married, should you so choose, your room will always be available for your nightly use. Do not worry my angel." Erik said consolingly, and cautiously lifting her gaze to his, she could see the hurt deep with in her eyes, and she mentally berated herself.

"I didn't mean it Erik. I just...I..." She stuttered, and Erik smiled weakly.  
"Let's forget this matter and depart." He said coldly, and Christine felt her heart break. She had deeply upset him with her carelessness. How could she be so blind and stupid?

"Erik, stop. Please." she called after his hastily retreating frame as he strode off along the corridor. He stopped and turned to regard her, his gaze level and icy. "I am sorry. It pains me to upset you. I did not mean it. I was frightened. I am nought but a child, a stupid, ignorant child. I am so sorry. Please forgive me." She choked, and ran to Erik, collapsing at his feet and sobbing,the tears splashing onto Erik's fine leather boots.

"Decease Christine." Erik said, laying a hand upon her heaving shoulder, and she slowly raised her tear stained face to his. "Do not weep Christine. It is not your fault. I forget how young you truly are. To expect so much from you is shameful of me. It is I seeking your forgiveness." He said, and sunk to his knees beside Christine, gathering her onto his lap so that sat together, huddled on the Persian carpet, while Christine's tears dried and Erik rocked her consolingly.

"Kiss me Erik." She murmured, and raised her chin expectantly. He cupped her chin within his palm and locked his lips with hers, a gasp of pleasure falling from his lips at the pleasurable sensation, and gathered Christine close to him so that she sat astride his lap, his hands supporting her back securely. Their lips danced and entwined, hands trailing over the other's body, and when Erik's thumb gently stroked underside of her full bosom, she felt herself falling apart.

"I love you Erik. Oh, how I love you." Slowly braking the kiss, she stroked Erik's sparsely covered skull and buried her face in his neck, a smile of pure bliss upon her rosebud lips.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please review? :)


	18. Chapter 18

(Christine)

"Please do make yourself comfortable whilst I make us some lunch." Erik said, as they walked into the spectacular kitchen with its domed roof and glass circular insert that allowed the midday sun to stream through the glass and dapple onto their forms and cast the room in a golden glow.

"Are you sure Erik. I feel so lazy. I must help you!" Christine said smiling, noting Erik's use of the first person instead of the third. She was changing him already.

"I insist Christine. Rest. It shall not be long, and Erik...I am used to much harder toil, I assure you." And squeezing her hand reassuringly, he departed from the room in the direction on the larder.

Sighing, she took a seat at the mahogany table that took pride of place in the centre of the room and her eyes fell upon the cream milk jug in the centre of the table that was laden with roses of varying shades of pink, their exquisite velvet petals begging to be stroked by the pad of her thumb. Grasping a stem, she extracted a pastel pink rose and caressed its full head, pressing it to her nose and inhaling the intoxicating scent. She ran her finger down the length of the stem and slowly back up again, her vacant thoughts picturing her wedding night and feel of Erik's hands as they trailed the length of her writhing body.

Blushing deeply, she set the rose down on the table, a smile tugging at her lips. As if it had a mind of its own, her hand rose from the table, turning slowly in the air with the grace if a ballerina, she stroked her face from temple to jaw with the back of the fingers, grazing of the supple softness of her flesh. Her fingers then trailed then trailed down her throat and over the swell of her chest, her eyelids fluttering closed and the silken material of her gown rustling as her hand made it downwards descent. She arched her neck, her plump parting, looking utterly debauched.

"Christine! Whatever's the matter?" Erik asked concerned, slipping to side with his catlike grace, and she opened her eyes quickly, placing both hands flat on the table.

"Nothing Erik. I am absolutely fine. Do not fret. My, um, neck ached and I was just stretching it. It must have been the funny angle I was sleeping at in the carriage." She said quickly, regarding Erik from beneath her heavy lids.

"If you are sure. Perhaps I can make a salve that you can rub on it?" He asked, deep concern and care for his beloved manipulating his tone.

"I would like that very much. Thank you." Christine said, and he smiled, his sunken cheeks lifting with the action.

"I am terribly sorry to keep you waiting. Lunch shall not be much longer." Erik said, and slowly turned on his heel and strode from the room.

Once out of sight, Christine collapsed against the table, her mind ablaze. Those feelings. The pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her virginal innocence was shocked at the idea of such feelings, but her heart longed for the day when it would be Erik making her feel such a way.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts and scolding her herself for feeling such a way, she picked up the rose that lay upon the tabletop and with a sudden desire tore the petals from the rose one by one. "He loves me. He loves me not. He loves. He loves me not." She said, as each petal slipped from her grasp and fluttered to the table, until she reached the very last petal at the centre. "He loves me." She whispered, letting the bare stem slip from between her fingers.

"I hope you are hungry Christine! I'm so sorry it took so long, there was a problem with the Arga." Erik said, carrying a trail laden with foodstuffs. He set the tray down upon the table in front of Christine and returned to the kitchen to renter a moment later with another tray of tea making items. Upon the tray was a plate of fresh rolls, a dish of butter, a selection of cheeses and a sponge cake. Her mouth watered at the array of smells.

"I must apologise for the limited selection. Antoinette has been most lax in her services." He stated angrily, and noticing Christine's quizzical gaze, he lips twitched. "Antoinette, my dearest, is the housekeeper. I pay her to come once a week and replenish my stores and generally clean and keep everything in order. But judging by the quantity in the larder, she has not been for a while. I shall be having words with her." Erik said, his hands tightening into fists at his side, and Christine laid her hand upon his arm tenderly, trying to soothe his anger.

"Shall I make the tea?" Christine asked, and Erik snapped out of his reverie, seating himself opposite her and inclining his head in ascent. Holding the strainer over the two teacups, she poured the steaming amber liquid into the porcelain cups and added a slice of lemon to each of them as there was no milk.

"It is an acquired taste my dearest. I must apologise for the lack of milk or cream." Erik said, noticing the grimace of dislike upon Christine's face as she sampled the Russian delicacy. Taking another sip, the taste slowly grew on her, and after another (having blown on it gently beforehand to cool it), she had grown accustomed to exotic taste and rather liked it.

"Please, do help yourself Christine." Erik said, and with approval, she seized a roll, thickly spreading it thickly with sweet creamy butter and Gorgonzola, which she soon devoured, licking her lips for any last crumb. With a rumbling stomach, she cut a thick slice of cake and ever crumb had passed her lips, whilst Erik sat regarding her amusedly, grinning into his teacup.

"My Christine seem to have forgotten her manner. Perhaps she has been around me for too long?" Erik said playfully, and Christine giggled. She was being impolite, particularly as Erik was not eating.

"Please, do have something Erik. You must be hungry and you are making me feel extremely guilty." She said pleadingly, employing her wide eyed puppy looking to persuade him, although it did not wash.

"No, thank you Christine. I am not hungry. I am not accustomed to eating in company, even around you my dearest. For too many years have my habits been engrained. I cannot easily change now." Erik said melancholily, his golden eyes glazing, and Christine gasped his hand across the table, her eyes saying more than words ever could. Her attention returned to her teacup, and she soon finished her drink, resting it back on its saucer.

"Erik, I was thinking. Can we go for a walk by the river. It's such a beautiful afternoon. Please." She asked innocently, raising her eyes to the slither of pastel blue sky that was visible through the glass pane in the ceiling.

"Of course my dearest. Your wish is my command. But I have an errand I must complete before we do, and it therefore means that I must go out and leave you alone for a while. Will you be alright?" Erik asked, watching Christine's face fall before his eyes. "My angel, if I didn't have to, then I can assure you that I would much rather be here in your loving embrace. But I must, and I shall not be long." Erik said, and standing, he began to place the items back onto the two trays.

"Alright Erik. I shall be fine. Do not worry. I shall miss you terribly though!" Christine said, leaning across the table and placing a kiss to the palm of Erik's hand. He leant down and pressed a kiss to her smooth forehead and turned, carrying the tray to the worktop and then returning for the other.

Christine slowly stood and walked to Erik's side, grasping his hand firmly within her own. He shot her a quizzical glance, unaccustomed to such actions, but she simply squeezed his hand. They walked to the entrance of the house and Christine stood beside him while he out on his thick hooded cloak. He turned as if to leave, then swiftly turned around and pressed his lips to Christine's, his hands fisting in her wild curls passionately, their bodies pressed tight. He slowly broke the kiss, caressing Christine's silken cheek.

" I love you." He whispered into her hairline, and slowly opening the door, he departed into the glare of the afternoon, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"I love you too." She said simply to the air, the words falling like raindrops of pure gold, the tears welling beneath her lids. With a heavy heart, she navigated the house to the magnificent library, lonely with Erik beside her side. Selecting the closest leather bound novel to hand, she strolled an armchair placed facing out the impressive bay window, with panoramic views of the garden. She curled up against the cool leather of the high back and opened the volume,becoming transfixed in the world of fantasy.

With a start she jolted from her snooze, dropping her book from her lax grip. She sat up, blinking rapidly to clear the film of sleep from her eyes. Her eyes flicking to the windows,she noticed that dusk had set in and the golden orb of the subways setting behind the avenue of trees. She hastily stood, remembering Erik's earlier departure, and her face blanched in horror. Surely he had returned by now? That had been hours ago when he had left. She swayed, grasping the chair for support, as images of Erik flooded her thoughts; lying in a ditch somewhere, battered and broken or in a cage, his disfigured face in display to a gawping audience. Tears welled beneath her lashes, and she resumed her seat for fear of falling. She had to formulate a plan.

'Don't be silly Christine. Erik might be home already, but has left you to slumber. Do not panic before you know reality.' The logical part of her brain thought, and she knew that she was right. She slowly rose, leaving the book lying sprawled on the floor in her haste. "Erik?" She called. "Erik, where are you? Please Erik, answer me!" She cried pleadingly, running from one room to another and gasping in pain as she proved to be empty.

Hitching her skirts, she ran the whole of the house, to arrive at the last room panting and sobbing, struggling to catch her breath. Coming back a sob, she stepped into the kitchen, her parched throat craving a refreshing drink. With half blind eyes she saw Erik bent over the work counter, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbow as he vigorously stirred a bowl of mixture.

"Erik." She cried, and ran to him, colliding with his solid figure and wrapping her slim arms around his waist, nearly knocking him off his feet with the exertion. "Oh Erik, I missed you so much. Don't ever leave me again." She cried bitterly into the fine cotton of his shirt.

"Hush my angel, do not cry. I am here now. I promise I will never leave you again." Erik said, abandoning his work upon the side and wrapping Christine in his embrace, burying his face in her mass of wild curls.

"Why did you have to go?" She asked, wriggling her head closer to the reassuring thud of Erik's heart.

"I cannot say my angel. But whilst I was out, I had a word with Antoinette and collected a few essential items so that my Christine can have tea just the way she likes it." Erik said, touching Christine's lower lip playfully that she had stuck out petulantly.

"Thank you." She whispered, squeezing Erik's middle gently with her arms. "Erik? Can I...I mean, may I...have a drink?" She asked, raising her eyes to meet his, and she saw his golden eyes soften.

"But of course. You needn't fear asking me. I am more than happy to oblige any request that you have. Do not be afraid to ask me Christine." He said, and disentangling himself from her arms, he strode to the sink. "What would my angel like? Perhaps I can tempt her with a fleshing glass of lemonade?" He asked, and she quickly nodded, her mouth watering at the thought.

"Please, do sit down Christine." Erik said, with a hint in his voice that told Christine not to disobey, and she obliged, resume the same seat as earlier in the day. Her mind scanned the events of the day. It was all so much; their hasty departure and then arriving here, a whole new life above ground with her beloved. She prayed that their life would be uneventful from now on, that there would be no one tracking them down, separating her from her love. She couldn't bare it. As her mind settled upon her angel, she nearly cried out at the direction of her thoughts. This afternoon had taught her one thing. She couldn't be without him. But he was old, so much older than herself. And he would die. And she would be left alone. Tears welled at the thought, and she blinked rapidly to clear her vision.

"Oh Christine, do not cry." Erik said, depositing two tall glasses of fresh lemonade on the table and taking a seat beside her. He wrapped his arms around her slim frame, and she leaned heavily against him, the tears subsiding, and rocked her gently, softly singing a gentle soothing lullaby into her ear.

"Are you quite alright now my angel?" He asked, gently grasping her chin within his large hand, and she nodded, sniffing. A tentative smile broke across her face as Erik gave a look of disgust at such a common, disgusting action.

"Don't ever leave me." She whispered.

"I swear, with every fibre of my being, that we will be together. Always."


	19. Chapter 19

(Raoul)

He sat at his desk, his head gripped tight in his steepled hands. He was getting nowhere. He was splashing money as if it were water, the gendarme having dropped their investigation. The corrupted chief was happily taking his wealth and it was bearing no fruits. He was no closer to finding Christine. He'd had to hide his solicitor's invoices from his prying brother, the extent of his spending from his pitiful allowance sending him spiralling into ruin.

He roared in frustration, knocking the stacks of paper and items off of his desk. More radical action would have to be taken. He decided to set a reward for the safe recovery of Christine. 10,000 francs would suffice, he thought. Oh, and mention the fact that she was with a dangerous, masked man who would be best off dead. He smiled at himself, his lips pulling back like a hungry wolf. Money was sure to bring information, and with it his Christine.

Strolling to his sideboard,his hands thrust deep in his pockets, he poured himself a tumbler of brandy, the deep amber liquid splashing against the crystal sides as he quickly downed the drink, refilling the glass with shaking hands. He sighed in pleasure as he raised the glass to his lips, his eyes settling upon the silver framed photograph of a young Christine.

"Soon my beloved. Soon."

xXx

(Christine)

She sat, humming a simple melody to herself whilst Erik finished preparing dinner. She craved another lesson. How she longed to be able to hit those high notes properly, to soar like an angel about the rest. To make Erik proud.

"You look lost Christine. Is my angel daydreaming?" Erik asked playfully, looking over his shoulder at her whilst he stood at the stove, stirring.

"I am quite alright Erik, thank you." Christine said, smiling at Erik, and he returned her smile tentatively, turning back to his work. She sighed to herself, wanting something to do to occupy her wandering mind. Perhaps she should take up embroidery? She giggled to herself at the idea of her getting her threads knotted and repeatedly pricking her finger. A less dangerous hobby would probably be better, she thought with a smile.

"Erik? How long will dinner be? I find my stomach rumbling." Christine said, drumming her fingers on the wooden table and twisting her engagement ring around on her finger, the huge diamond fascinating her.

"Five minutes. Be still your growling, Christine's stomach." Erik said, his eyes glittering as Christine erupted into a fit of giggles.

"Oh Erik, you're so silly." Christine said, sneaking up behind Erik and wrapping her arms around his waist. He flinched at the initial contact, but his rigid frame relaxed when Christine nuzzled her cheek against his spine, pressing a kiss to the thin material of his shirt.

"I must always be light and merry to please you, Christine. For too long I have wallowed in the morbid. I was cold, and now I have you, it like I have my very own sun, my perfect little source of heat and love. Before you, Christine, life was...distant. I felt like I trapped under water, beneath that thick layer of ice that coats a pond during the depths of winter. I could see through, and observe, but I could not free myself from the oppressive." Erik said, his face and eyes hardening, anger clipping his tone. Lowering his eyes to hers, he turned and embraced her face on, fisting her thick curls within his hand and burying his face in the silky warmth of her creamy neck.

"But now I am here Erik. To stay. Forever. I will be your sunshine. My love for you will break you from the chains of oppression. Trust me." Christine said, with sincerity and wisdom beyond her seventeen years, and Erik pressed her closer, his arms tightening around her slim waist.

"Oh Christine. How remiss of me." Erik said, breaking their embrace and turning swiftly to remove the rapidly bubbling pan from the hob. Christine bit her lip, trying hard not to laugh at the image of Erik cooking and cleaning. "Christine, I believe that dinner is at last ready. Do take a seat and I shall bring it to you." Erik said, and Christine knew that Erik wanted her out of the way.

Pouting, she strolled back to her seat, watching Erik fluster. She felt guilty for not helping, but she knew that once he had made a command, it was safest to obey his wishes.

"I hope you like fish, my angel." Erik said with a tentative smile, his eyes betraying his eyes betraying his need for praise, as he placed a steaming plate of fish stew with rouille before her.

"Oh Erik,I love fish. This smells absolutely divine." Christine said, deeply inhaling her rich, aromatic smell, and her mouth watered. Erik glided to the counter, retrieving cutlery and two flutes of crisp, refreshing white wine.

"Please, do start." Erik said, picking up his fork, and Christine mirrored the action, spearing a piece of fish and placing it in her mouth, savouring the delicious, complex flavours.

"Erik, this is delectable. You have excelled yourself." Christine said, loading her fork with a muscle, a chunk of potato and a prawn, slowly putting it in mouth, innocently watching Erik's eyes trained on the movement.

"Thank you. I aim to please you Christine, it is my one wish." Erik said, his voice slightly husky, a faint pink tinging his cheeks. They resumed eating, each occasionally lifting their gaze and catching that of the other.

It wasn't long before both had finished their meal, Erik finishing before Christine and as she finished, Erik sat observing her, drinking the remaining quantity of his wine. She ate the last morsel and put down her fork, pressing the crisp linen napkin to her lips.

"Thank you Erik, that was most delicious." Christine said, sitting back in her seat and meeting Erik's casual gaze. He quickly lowered his, and Christine's face fell. Leaning forward, she gently grasped Erik's chin across the table and raised his face to meet hers.

"I like you looking at me. Do not be ashamed to do so." Christine said, caressing his sunken cheek. It was true. Erik watching her, admiring her, made her feel special. She was so unused to attention that it was exhilarating.

"If you are sure Christine. It does not feel right. I feel like a lecherous old man." Erik said, self hate manipulating his smooth, sensuous voice, and Christine gasped in horror.

"Do not ever say such a thing. I love you. I do, Erik, with all of my heart. You could never be a lecherous old man in my eyes. To me, you are perfect." Christine said, and her face crumbled as she saw the tears glistening in Erik's eyes.

"Christine, you are too good for me. I...I do no deserve you." Erik said, choking n his words, and Christine's lower lip trembled. She quickly vacated her seat, running to the other side of the table to sit on Erik's lap, clasping her arms tightly around his neck. She soothed him, pressing kisses to his sparsely covered skull. After a few minutes, Erik's anguish subsided, and he raised his face tentatively to Christine's.

"I must apologise Christine. Forgive me." Erik said, standing to his feet with Christine clasped firmly in his arms bridal style.

"Do not apologise Erik. You must never apologise to me for showing your emotions." Christine said, caressing Erik's swollen lower lip. She smiled to herself, and then pressed a finger to Erik's chest. "Erik, what am I doing in your arms?" Christine said innocently, her angelic eyes wide.

"It's where you belong Christine." Erik said, his recent emotional outburst having seemingly been forgotten. He was once again the strong, masculine figure that Christine so adored. Christine could do nothing but agree, and she snuggled closer to his firm chest as he walked to the library, depositing his precious load on the chaise longue.

"Just one moment Christine. I must light the fire, for it is frightfully cold in here." Erik said, stepping into Christine's open, expectant arms and pressing a kiss to her forehead. He seemingly glided to the open fireplace, striking a match and lighting a piece of kindling which he set amongst a stack of logs and the initial, small flames caught and set the wood blazing, Erik returned to Christine's side, selecting a leather bound novel from the shelf behind him.

"What is that?" Christine asked curiously, shifting slightly to accommodate Erik to sit beside her.

"It is 'Notre Dame de Paris' my angel. You have heard of it, no?" He asked, opening the novel to the first page, and regarding Christine's reaction.

"I believe so. Is it about the man who lived in the bell tower of Notre Dame and falls I love with a beautiful young gypsy? Papa read it to me when I was a very small child, but I cannot really remember the story." Christine asked, snuggling closer to Erik's warm body.

"Yes, my dearest, it is. Well I refresh your memory." Erik said, placing his arm around Christine's waist so that she was pressed closer to his body, and resting her against his chest, her eyes settled upon the roaring flame of the fire, the soothing, hypnotic tone of Erik's voice making her eyelids feel heavy, as if they were made of lead. Succumbing to the feeling, she let her lids flutter closed, Erik's voice resonating within her ear.

"Christine? Christine? Wake up my love." Erik said, gently shaking her shoulder to stir her from her dreams, and with a sharp intake of breath, she awoke, sitting up awkwardly from her reclining position on Erik's lap.

"Oh Erik, I am so sorry. I was so overwhelmed by fatigue. The hypnotic flames and your soothing quality of your voice overcame me. I am sorry." Christine said, her eyes blurry with sleep, and Erik's lips twitched.

"I must apologise Christine. I didn't know I could be so boring." Erik said, shutting the novel and placing it on the small side-table beside him.

"I didn't mean it like that Erik. I'm just lazy. I'm not used to doing nothing." Christine said, stretching her back that ached due to the funny angle at which she had slept.

"It is late Christine. Perhaps bedtime should be in order?" Erik asked, his eyebrow arching, and Christine nodded, a yawn slipping from between her lips. Erik rose from his seat and collected her into his arms, walking through the many passageways that led to their adjoins bedrooms. When they arrived at her door, Erik set her down, his eyes lowering to his highly polished shoes.

"Goodnight Christine." Erik said awkwardly, turning to grasp the handle of the door that led to his room, but was stopped when Christine laid a slim hand on his shoulder. He turned slowly, and standing on tip-toes, she grasped his face between her hands. Pulling his face down gently to hers, she pressed her lips to his, one hand sliding up to Erik's skull to fist lightly in his hair. Her lips danced with his, and his hands pressed her supple body tight against his, his hands trailing up and down the length of her spine.

Slowly breaking the kiss, she pulled his close to her, squeezing him tight for several minutes. "Goodnight my love." She whispered into his ear, and pressing a kiss to his deformed cheek, she slowly opened her door and entered her room.

She rushed through her toilette, cleaning her teeth before the grand mirror in her marble bathroom. She quickly undressed, her fingers fumbling with the ties of her corset, and when she was down to her petticoat, she picked up her hairbrush from her vanity and ran to bed, sinking into the plump feather pillows and fine cotton sheets. She removed the few pins from her hair and began to brush her thick curls, her mind imaging Erik the other side of the wall preparing for bed, or reading, or even composing in the gentle light of a candle.

Setting her brush down, she lay back against the pillows, blowing out the many candles that stood proud on her bedside table and plunging the room into darkness. The only light was the faint gleam of the brilliant moon that fell between the fluffy dark clouds.

Heaving a sigh, she rolled to her side, facing the window, and closed her eyes, willing sleep to overtake her once again. Nothing. For several hours she lay there, desperate for the oblivion of dreams, but could not settle. Her mind whirred, settling on everything and nothing. She was lonely in the big bed on her own, in a strange new house. Everything was so...foreign. The room was far too big, much bigger than the comfort of the her room at home...at their old home. The shadows that haunted the corners of her room frightened her. She needed Erik, even though they were only separated by a wall.

Sitting up in bed, she lit a sole candle, and grasped it firmly in its holder. Her desire to be with Erik was wrong. It was improper. They were both in a state of undress, and worse, they were not married. But she needed to be with him. She could not pass the night alone.

Walking to the door that separated their rooms, her candle held aloft, she knocked tentatively upon the door, the sound echoing loudly within her ears. With no reply,she tried again, and after a moment, she heard the light tread of Erik's feet. He slowly opened the door, his eyes searching her face.

"Is everything alright Christine." He asked, concern deep within his golden orbs, and she nodded, unused to the sight of Erik in such a state of undress. He stood before her wearing nothing but a pair of thin black silk pyjamas, the trousers resting low upon his slim hips.

"I need you Erik. I'm lonely on my own. Please...can I share your bed?" She asked tentatively, her lip trembling, and she noted the way that Erik's face fell, his cheeks colouring.

"It is improper Christine. Why don't you return to bed and I can sit with you and sing you a soothing lullaby?" He asked, but Christine shook her head.

"I do not care about propriety Erik. I need to be with you." She said, and frantically scanning her face with scared, widened eyes, he nodded, opening the door further for her to enter. Faltering, she walked to Erik's bed, placing her candle on a side table, and slowly got into Erik's bed, feeling more of a naive virgin than every before. Erik stood at the foot of the bed, observing her movements.

"You shall have my bed tonight Christine. I shall sleep in my chair." He said, with a note of finality to his voice, but Christine protested, shaking her head vehemently.

"I want you here, in bed with me. Please Erik." She said simply, longing for Erik's resolve to crumble, and she watched as he visibly fought his inner demons. With a shaky intake of breath, he walked slowly to the other side of the bed and lay down on top of the covers. When Christine turned to him in confusion,he explained, his voice shaking with barely suppressed nerves.

"You see Christine,it is temptation enough just to have you here, with me. I fear my resolve, Christine. How easy it would be for me to succumb to the voices in my head and my sick desires. Your smell, your warmth, the suppleness of your body, is enough to drive me to insanity. I know that you are naked beneath the flimsy article you wear. I could see the outline of your glorious body in the candlelight. My God Christine." Erik said, drawing a trembling breath, passing his trembling hand before his eyes. "It is safest for you if I sleep above the covers." His eyes was not meet hers, instead resting upon a spot on his silken covers.

"It is your choice Erik. I will not force you." She said, but reached out, grasping Erik's hand across the seemingly huge expanse of space that Erik had put between them. She pressed a kiss to his palm, and holding his hand close to her face, she snuggled down within the covers, their clasped hand pressed against her cheek, and within a minute, she was within the realm of dreams, a smile upon her lips.

Erik lay, propped up on one elbow, watching Christine's angelic, peaceful beauty. Cautiously, he caressed her silken cheek, and slowly, so as not to disturb her, he lay his hideous head down beside hers upon the pillow.

"Sleep well my angel."

**Thank you for reading. I thought I should just explain the term 'Rouille'. A Rouille is a Provençal sauce made from red chilies, garlic, and other ingredients. Anyway, thank you. Please review? :)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you for all the lovely reviews (and hello to my new reviewers!) Big things are going to happen in this chapter, so be warned! :)**

(Erik)

He woke early, just as the the first tentative golden rays of the sun pooled through the wide bay windows, bathing the bed in its warmth and light. His eyes snapped open, roused from his light sleep by the dull ache in his arm from sleeping on it. Christine. He could smell her upon himself, and turning slowly so as not to disturb her, he regarded her beauty.

'She's all mine.' He thought to himself, and slowly, painfully slowly, his hand grazed the springiness of her curls and the supple softness of her cheek. In her dreams, she wriggled closer to the touch of his hand and a blissful smile settled upon her lips. He retracted his hand, and propping himself up on one elbow, continued to watch his angel sleep.

xXx

(Christine)

Falling through the layers of sleep, she jolted awake, her eyes flicking open. 'Where am I?' She thought to herself in a moment of panic, but then as full consciousness dawned, she smiled to herself. In Erik's bed.

"Good morning my love." Christine said, yawning, as she turned over in bed, pulling the covers up closer to her chin to retain the warmth of sleep, but sat up hastily when she saw that Erik was missing. Where was he? She scanned the room, her sleep muddled brain clearing in her panic, and a crease of fear appeared between her brows.

"Erik? Erik! Where are you?" She called, and when goosebumps raised on her arms, she fell back against the pillows, and curled up between the silken sheets, sending a prayer up to God for Erik's swift return. As her mind spun, she heard the almost indistinguishable sound of Erik's footsteps outside the door.

"Christine. Is everything alright? I'm sorry to have caused you concern." Erik said, as he entered the room carrying a tray lade with foodstuffs. Christine sat up against the headboard, propped up by the pillows, and watched passively as Erik he walked to the bed and placed the tray upon her sheet-covered lap, her eyes trailing the length of his smartly dressed, perfected tailored clothed body, her eyes dropping to her thinly covered body.

"Don't worry Erik. I fret too much. I knew that you could not be far. I should learn to be less dependent upon you." Christine said, laughing nervously to hide her previous anxiety, and he sat down upon the edge of her bed, his brow arched quizzically.

"Why? It warms my heart to hear you say such things Christine. To know that I am needed. " Erik said, his eyes falling to the lavish breakfast before them, and with a smile upon his lips, he rose to his feet and sauntered to the door, turning back to regard Christine, pinning her with his mesmerising golden eyes.

"Eat up, Christine, for you will need you strength today." He said, and left the room before Christine could quiz him.

Sighing, she picked up the knife that lay shining upon the tray and a fresh, warm roll and spread it liberally with butter and jam, her straight perfect white teeth sinking into the sweet morsel. It soon passed her lips, and retrieving the cutlery, set about consuming a piece of toast piled with scrambled egg and salty rashers of cured bacon, feeling like a snake as she attempted to fit each forkful into her mouth. Once her plate had been cleared, she fingers closed around the cool glass of orange juice, her eyes falling upon a crisp folded piece of paper.

Hmping into her glass, she drained the contents and set it down, pressing a napkin to her lips with one hand as with the other she seized the paper, and dropping the napkin, fumbled to unfolded the sheet, the scent of roses rising from it as she held it, flattened, in both hands.

'My dearest Christine, I know that it is uncustomary of me to send you notes, but I want to tell you how much I love you. I have something very special planned for today, and it requires you to look your best. Do not believe for one second my angel that I think of you ever looking anything but perfect, but this...event, calls for the smartest of dress and the delicate beauty of jewellery. Take a bath, my love, with the lavender bath crystals and dress, to meet me at twelve sharp in the entrance hall. All will be explained my love. Do not fear. Forever yours, Erik x'

Whilst reading, she had found her eyebrows rising higher and higher in surprise, and her eyes scanned the last word, lingering on the inked kiss, she pressed the paper to her chest, a smile upon her lips. Whatever could Erik be planning?

Without wasting another minutes, she placed the now finished breakfast tray upon the bedside table, and rose, running back into her bedroom and into her ensuite bathroom. Leaning over the tub, she placed the plug in the hole and opened the taps, hot, steaming water pouring forth. Whilst it ran, she returned to her room and seized her silver hairbrush from her dresser, returning to the bathroom and standing before the mirror to tame her wild curls. She tugged, pulling free the tangles, and placing her brush down, poured a stream of sweet scented bath crystal into the hot water, slipping her petticoat off and slowly stepping into the water, sinking to her shoulders beneath the heat. Grasping the sponge from the side, she squeezed it in the water and rubbed it over her limbs, stretching her aching muscles as they relaxed in the heat of the water.

Holding her breath, she fully submerged beneath the water, rubbing her hands in her thick curls to thoroughly wet them. Grasping the block of rose hair soap, she rubbed it between her hands to form a lather and massaged it into her hair, the soothing motion of her fingers lulling her to sleep. Lying back, she closed her eyes, daydreaming, until the water began to cool and goosebumps rose on her arms. With a sigh, she washed the bubbles from hair and got out of the tub, wrapping a thick, fluffy cotton towel around her body and another around her hair. Draining the tub, she retrieved her hairbrush and walked back into her room, sitting down at her vanity table, her eyes falling upon the ornate carriage clock sat upon her vanity. 11:00 She had an hour to get ready.

Unwrapping the towel from her head, she brushed the knots from her hair, the scent of roses rising from it, watching in amusement as the straight strands slowly curled back into her usual springs. Once completed, she left her hair loose to dry and made her way to her wardrobe, flinging the doors wide and staring in awe at the vast array of contents. Whatever should she choose? Light or dark colour? High necked or v-necked? Something inside screamed at her to choose a dress in plain white, and closing her eyes, she placed her hand amongst the dresses, and drew forth one, opening her eyes to see what she had got. A simple white gown with a ruffled lace neckline and a pale pink sash that would clinch her slim waist. Her eyes were drawn to the circular glass beads that adorned the neckline, shimmering in the morning glow of the sun's rays. It was beautiful.

Seizing a clean petticoat, corset and stockings, she returned to the heat of her bathroom, her clothes tucked under her arm. Closing the door behind her, she quickly rubbed the remaining moisture from her skin and slipped on her underwear, fumbling with the laces of her corset and pulling them tight to pull in her waist. She then undid the small pearl buttons at the back of her dress and slipped it over her head, redoing then with a little difficulty and tying the sash. She sneaked a quick peek in the mirror at her reflection. It suited her well, the pink sash accentuating her tiny waist and adding emphasis to the rosiness of her cheeks. All she needed now was the finishing touches of jewellery and to do her hair.

The remaining hour passed in a blur. She dressed her hair, pinning sections back with two jewel encrusted combs and placing a simple diamond pendant around her neck. It was now 11:45. She had spent so long doing and undoing her hair, trying to make it perfect, that the time had flown. Making a mental list of the things still to be done, she picked up here atomiser and spritzed perfume behind her ears and at her wrists, pinching her cheeks to bring more colour to them. She then collected a pair of low heeled satin slippers and a deep, rich pink cloak of the softest velvet from her wardrobe, her eyes seeking the time upon the clock face. 11:50. Ten minutes.

Slowly her hectic pace, she slipped her shoes on and folding her cloak over her arm, left her room and descended to the kitchen, craving a glass of icy water to quench her dry throat. She did not call for Erik, assuming him to be busy, and fixed herself a drink of water, and then another. 'Oh gosh, I must use the toilet.' She thought to herself with a gasp, and quite literally running to her room, she threw her cloak upon her bed and used her bathroom with as much haste as possible, her heart sinking when she saw the time. 12:02. She was late!

Snatching her cloak, she ran back downstairs to the entrance hall...and waiting for her was Erik. Upon noticing her arrival, a small smile tugged at his lips.

"Christine. You look...wonderful." He choked huskily as she walked the last few steps to his side. Her cheeks tinging in pleasure, she dipped her head to him in acknowledgement and greeting, a smile upon her own lips.

"I am so sorry I am late Erik. I was desperate for a drink, but then found myself needing the bathroom." She said sheepishly, and Erik proffered his arm to her, through which she weaved her arm, gripping his upper arm lightly.

"Erik? Can you please tell me where we are going. I feel so overdressed!" She said, glancing to Erik's attire. As always, it was immaculate. To his dress of earlier, he had added silk cravat and waistcoat of golden brown and a frock coat of charcoal black, on top of which was a black woollen,red silk lined cloak. She was in direct contrast to him. Like heaven and hell, she a celestial being and he a thing of temptation. It was then that she noticed the mask,which gleamed skull like upon his face. How she detested it. But she said not a word, knowing that it was a must; alone with just her, he could be free and himself, but in society, it was the only way to ever be tolerated.

"I cannot tell you, my love. But I can assure you that you are not overdressed for the occasion." Erik said, and locked the door behind them. Removing her hand from his arm, she grasped his leather glove clad hand within her own and commenced walking, following the gravel path though their front garden to the arch that marked the end of their property. The sun had risen higher it the sky, which was the palest of blues tinged with faint clusters of clouds, and a gentle breeze stirred the loose curls at the nape of her neck.

"After you angel." Erik said, and Christine stepped through the arch to be confronted with their carriage. Shooting a glance at him for reassurance, she stepped lightly up into the carriage, and Erik took a seat beside her, and pulling the hood of his cloak up to shield his face, he grasped the reins firmly in both hands. Shaking them, he signalled for the horses to go.

Words were not sat, enjoying each others' company, Christine pressed close against Erik's slim chest, his arm forming a protective cage around her. She could hear the birds singing in the trees, the male signing his song of love to his companion, and the sweet noise of the world as it continued around her. It was not long before the carriage stopped.

"I want you to close your eyes Christine." Erik said, and shooting him a quizzical glance, she obeyed, her lids fluttering shut. She heard, and felt, Erik jump down from the carriage, and rising shakily to her feet, crouching slightly so as not to hit her head on the material covering, she reached out and grasped Erik's hand for assistance, and squeezing tightly, she stepped down.

"Keep them closed my angel." Erik said, his silken voice commanding, and she sensed him walk behind her, locking his arms around her waist.

"Open." The words like honey whispered into her ears, and slowly she opened her eyes. They were standing before a church. Her eyes widened in wonder, and turning to Erik, her mouth open as if to catch flies, she burst into a fit of laughter and happiness, flinging her arms around Erik's neck.

"Oh Erik. Oh, I am so happy. Are we really to be married?" Christine asked disbelievingly,and Erik nodded,his eyes dancing in matching joy.

"Indeed we are, my love. That is, if you want to be?" He said, drawing back from her and placing his hands upon her shoulders to look her square in the eye. She nodded enthusiastically, bridging the gap between them and pressing her smiling face into his solid chest.

"Shall we go in, or would you prefer to remain outside all day?" Erik said playfully, and batting at his chest flirtatiously, she grasped his hand and tugged slightly, making it very clear as to her wishes.

"Very well then. But only if you are absolutely sure. I want you to be absolutely certain,for once it is done, it cannot be undone. Are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life with me Christine. You are only young and..."

"Erik." She said, placing a finger upon his lips to cut him off as he began to babble. "You are my everything. I love you. I-love-you. I want to marry you. I know what I am doing. Please, don't ever doubt my love for you." And removing her finger, pressed a kiss to his porcelain lips.

"Alright. Let us go." Erik said, and together they walked into the shadows of the church, Christine lagging slightly behind at the unfamiliar surrounding. They stopped at the end of the aisle,and Christine raised her eyes to Erik's, seeking reassurance. He met her gaze and his eyes said all; that she had nothing to fear.

"Monsieur le Pasteur. I have come with my bride to be married." Erik said,his voice resonating within the old stone walls. An old man, looking much like a mole to Christine's amusement, shuffled down the aisle towards them and gripped Erik by the hand, shaking it warmly.

"Ahh, Monsieur. You are well I trust? And this must be your lovely wife?" He asked, his hands held out before him ready to cup her face, and with a glance to Erik, she stepped forward into his hands.

"Monsieur, you have a very pretty wife. You are most fortunate." The vicar said with a smile, as his hands traced Christine's face, and she blushed at the compliment. It was then that she realised that the vicar was blind- that was why he was reading her face thorough his hands. It meant that they could be married without prejudice. So that was where Erik had been yesterday.

"If you would follow me to the front." The vicar said, and exchanging a glance, they both followed. "You must excuse me a moment. Pierre! Pierre! You will of course need a witness, and Pierre always stands in. He is our best choirboy, although he is more of a man." The vicar said with a smile, and Christine laughed.

"Yes. How can I help?" Pierre replied, his voice sounding distant as he left the vestry and joined the small party at the altar. Christine smiled and Erik stiffened. Pierre was a young man of eighteen, with cherubic blonde curls and eyes the colour of a summer sky.

"Pierre, this young couple wish to be married. Will you act as witness?" The vicar asked, his milky eyes turned in the direction of the choirboy.

"But of course." He replied, his eyes slowly trailing the length of Christine's body, and her smile turned into a frown. She seized Erik's hand, bringing it to her lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, her eyes trained on Pierre, warning him to stop, that she was to be married. A confused Erik gazed at her, and understanding her motivation, turned to Pierre, his gaze piercing and threatening. Christine studied his face, and then a smile pulled at her lips.

"Erik. Do not worry. Pierre is blind also. Look at his eyes. They do not focus." Standing upon tiptoe Christine whispered into Erik's ear, and slowly lifting his gaze to meet Pierre's, his tense eyes relaxed. Christine was right.

"If you are both ready, we shall begin."

"I Erik ,take you, Christine, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death us do part, according to God's holy law; and this is my solemn vow." Erik said, slipping a simple diamond band onto Christine's finger, sitting snug against her heavily jewelled engagement ring.

"And now Christine, it is your turn."

"I, Christine, take you, Erik, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death us do part, according to God's holy law; and this is my solemn vow." Christine said, tears glittering in her eyes, as Erik reached into his pocket and withdrew a plain gold band, pressing it into Christine's palm, and which she slipped onto Erik's ring finger, pushing it down over his knuckle.

"The rings symbolise the promises you have just made to one another. Marriage cannot be ended except by death, but love, like God, is eternal – it has no beginning or whom God has joined together, let no one divide." The priest said, placing his hands upon Erik and Christine's grasped hands, and whispered a blessing and prayer for them.

"We must now sign the register." The priest said, and shuffled over the great leather bound volume that contained the record of every marriage that had occurred in the past 50 years.

"And what is your surname Monsieur?" The priest asked, and Erik froze.

"Khan. My..our surname is Khan." Erik said, his voice cracking, and Christine squeezed his hand.

"An unusual name." The priest commented, his ink pen scratching against the parchment as he completed the register.

"My father was Persian." Erik said, his eyes telling Christine that all would later be explained, and the priest nodded, raising his face to theirs.

"If you would both sign the register, then we will be nearly complete, once Pierre has signed of course." The priest added with a chuckle, and held the pen out to Erik and Christine. Both signed their names within the allotted place, and turning to Pierre, who stood a little distance behind them, she placed the pen in his hand and her hand upon his elbow, leading him to the register. Once he had signed, the priest grasped both Erik and Christine's hands.

"May God bless you both. May you live long and happy lives." He said, squeezing their hands, and both Christine and Erik smiled.

"Thank you Monsieur le Pasteur." Christine said, and placing his hand in his pocket, Erik drew out a wad of notes and pressed them into the priests' hand.

"Thank you very much Monsieur." He said, bowing and turning back to his register, Christine grasped Erik's hand and together they walked out of the church. Just as they got to the door, Christine gasped, and running back to the altar, pressed a chaste kiss to Pierre's cheek.

"Au revoir Pierre." She whispered, watching his cheeks flame a vivid scarlet. Shaking, he pressed his hand to his cheek, where Christine's lips had touched his skin.

"Au revoir Christine." He replied nervously, and slowly, Christine turned and skipped back to Erik, grasping his hand once again. His frame was rigid and his eyes would not meet hers.

"I had to Erik." She said simply, knowing in her heart that it had been the right thing to do, and that that once small action, so freely given, was a foreign feeling to the young man.

Together, they emerged from the shadowy embrace of the church and out into the glaring sunlight of early afternoon. Stopping, Erik gathered Christine to him and locked her in his embrace, burying his face in the length of her creamy neck.

"My Christine. My wife."


	21. Chapter 21

(Christine)

"My Christine. My wife." The word. Wife. She was, at last, Erik's wife. Nothing could break that bond that had been forged between them. Nothing but death. But she refused to settle on such a matter on a day like this. Her wedding day. She and Erik were eternal. Forever. "

What would my love, my wife, like to do with the rest of her day?" Erik asked, stepping out of her embrace and grasping her hand firmly in his.

"I think,my dearest, loveliest husband,that I would like to take that promised walk by our river." Christine said, a smile or her lips, and standing in tiptoes, pressed her laughing lips to Erik's porcelain ones.

"Well, my love, your wish is my command." Erik said, beckoning his hand with a magician's charm, and Christine stepped up into the carriage, shuffling closer to Erik as he sat down beside her. Laughing, she linked her arm with his, and jolting the reins, they began on their journey home.

The sun reflecting and glinting off of the many diamonds that sat on Christine's ring finger fascinated her. The rainbow effect of the light as it was refracted within the many prisms within the diamonds. She was a child a heart, even if she was now a married woman.

It was not long until they were home again. Bringing the horses to a slow stop, Erik leapt down from the carriage and holding one hand out to Christine, with the other he brushed the horse's flank soothingly.

"I am afraid, my dearest Christine, that I must...work for a while before we can go for our walk, therefore I must leave you alone again on your wedding day. For this I heartily apologise, but perhaps, if it is not too impertinent of me, you could prepare a lunch to take with us? You shall find a hamper behind the door in the larder. I shall be no more than three hours, that I promise." Erik said, grasping Christine's slip hand firmly within his own, and her face momentarily fell before she forced a smile.

"Of course Erik. You don't have to apologise to me. I just hope that you don't work too hard." Christine said, attempting to remain happy and joyful, as if be left alone again meant nothing, when inside, it hurt her deeply.

"I will try." Erik said, and pressing a kiss to her smooth forehead, he stepped back into the carriage and shaking the reins, moved off, returning the horses to their stable. Once he was out of sight, she allowed her face to fall and her lower lip trembled. It was her wedding day. How could Erik leave her alone?

Sighing, she took a wander through the garden, unable to enter the house as Erik had not yet unlocked the great front door. Her hand trailed idly along the bushes as she wandered, her head in the clouds. Suddenly, a sharp pin-prick caught her finger, and she gasped in surprise, watching in fascination the way the bead of blood rose and and spread on her porcelain fingertip, the rich crimson colour vivid against her pale skin. Sucking her finger to stop it from bleeding, she glanced down at the offending article. A rosebush, it's full petalled roses a pale, pastel pink, the colour of a blush. Cupping the full head, she crouched down and brought it to her nose, inhaling its heady scent. The stem of one rose had been broken, and carefully placing her fingers so as not to stab them again, she twisted it off, holding her prize aloft and slowly spinning it in the sunlight.

Laughing, she tucked the thorn-less rose behind her ear and continued her walk around the garden, stopping to sit daintily upon the rim of the stone fountain, watching transfixed s fat carp swum below the surface, the weed dancing in the gentle movement of the water. She caught a glimpse of her reflection, admiring the way her springy ringlets fell over her shoulder. Smiling to herself, she stood slowly, brushing down the material of her dress, and began to walk back to the front door, tentatively testing the door knob and feeling it give beneath the turn of her hand.

Her natural reaction to call out to Erik suppressed, she hung her cloak up on a peg in the entrance hall and walked the corridors, humming a simple melody to herself, not knowing her destination. Remembering that Erik had said he would be no more than three hours, and knowing that he would stick to his promise, she had quite a while to kill.

'I shall prepare lunch, and then change my shoes, for it would be silly to go for a walk in satin slippers.' She thought to herself, quickly changing her direction, feeling like Theseus lost in the Minotaur's labyrinth. 'It would nice if I made a cake. A sponge with lots of jam and cream.'

Mapping the lunch out in her head, she entered the kitchen, walking straight to the larder to retrieve the hamper, and collecting an apron as well to protect the lovely dress from any splashes or stains. Placing the hamper upon the table, she slipped the apron over the head and tied the strap behind her back with deft fingers. Withdrawing from within the pocket of the apron a piece of string, she piled her curls at the nape of her neck and tied them with it to restrain them.

'Where do I begin?' She thought to herself, tapping her lip with her finger as she thought. 'While I make the cake mix, the rolls can be heating.' She concluded, and returned to the larder, selecting the rolls, butter, eggs, flour, sugar, and the jar of baking powder from the shelves, and arms laden with the goods, she returned to the kitchen, placing them quickly down upon the counter before they fell. Thankfully, the oven had been lit earlier by Erik when he had prepared her breakfast, but had been turned down low, so increasing the heat, she carefully opened the heavy metal door to the oven and placed the rolls inside, quickly withdrawing her hand from the heat. Once done, she swept to one of the many cupboards and retrieved a mixing bowl and wooden spoon. Scanning the cupboards for a set of scales, she gave up and seizing the jar of flour, baking powder and the butter, she guessed the correct amount and placed them in the bowl, a cloud of flour flying up as it made contact with the ceramic. Laughing, she brushed the flour from her cheek, smearing more in the process. Cracking two eggs against the side of the bowl, she seized the wooden spoon and began to stir, the muscles of her arm working hard with the effort, until the mixture was smooth with lots of air trapped in it.

Laying the spoon down, she grasped a tea towel that was folded by the sink and carefully opened the door to the oven,stepping back as a cloud of steam drifted out. Waving the tea towel to clear it, she looked in at the rolls. Perfectly cooked. She caught each one and brought them out quickly, placing them on the side to cool. Having greased the cake tin, she spooned the mixture in, and placed it in the oven, her eyes catching the time on the great clock that hung above the cooker. 2:15. The cake would need at least 30 minutes

When thirty minutes had passed, Christine checked the cake and removed it from the oven, the last part of her picnic nearly finished. It would sit on the side to cool, while she finished getting ready. Mentally, she scanned her list. She had cooked the rolls and had just finished filling them with some cold sliced meat and mustard and had also washed some apples and filled a bottle with icy water, all of which had been placed inside the hamper along with plates, cutlery and napkins. All she had to do was change her shoes, and she could then fill the cake and everything would be complete.

Running upstairs to her room, she slipped off her shoes and entered her room, her stockinged feet sinking into the pile of the carpet. She used the bathroom, splashing cool water upon her face to refresh her skin, and walked slowly to her wardrobe, opening the doors wide. Her eyes fell upon the range of shoes that lined the bottom of the armoire. If they were going for a walk, she would need a sensible pair of shoes, and selecting a pair of boots with a small heel and laces at the front, she walked slowly downstairs, the boots clasped in her hand. As she descended the stairs, her caught the large clock that hung in the entrance hall. 3:00. She had an hour and forty-five minutes to kill.

'I may as well begin with icing the cake.' She thought to herself, and depositing her boots in the hall, she walked back to the kitchen, liking the feel of the smooth stone floor beneath her feet.

" My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold." Christine sang, liberally spreading a layer of thick whipped cream onto the already spread layer of raspberry jam. Running her finger around the rim of the bowl, collecting the remnants of cream, she licked it clean and placed the spatula back into the bowl, pressing the top half of the cake onto the lower half and pressing it down gentle, blobs of cream spilling down the side.

"You sing like an angel Christine." Erik said, stepping up behind her, and she gasped in surprise, pressing her hand against her chest.

"Oh Erik, you surprised me. Shouldn't you be working?" She asked, picking up the bowl from the table and placing it in the sink.

"I have finished. We can go now." Erik said, his eyes falling upon the freshly made cake and glittering at the sight. Christine smiled at the sight, retrieving a knife from the draw and cutting two thick wedges, each of which she wrapped in baking parchment and placed into the hamper.

"I am all ready." Christine said, and closing the lid and securing the straps that held it shut, she picked up the hamper, which Erik immediate took from her grasp. She seized his hand, and they left the kitchen, finding a picnic rug on their way out to sit.

"I think here would be as good a spot as any." Erik said, stopping below the shade of a huge willow tree that sat proud beside the river as it wound across the meadow, the gentle sound of the water soothing. Shaking out the rug, he laid it down upon the grass and sat down, holding out his hand for Christine to grasp as she sat down carefully, tucking her legs up beneath her, the voluminous material of her dress pooling around her ankles.

"Erik, my love. May I ask you a question?" She asked, brushing the material of her skirt as Erik opened the hamper, retrieving the bottle of water and two glasses.

"But of course, my angel. Ask away." He said, pouring the water into the glasses and handing one to Christine, who gratefully accepted it.

"Well, earlier, in the church, you gave your surname as Khan, and then said that it was your fathers'. But I am sure that your father wasn't Moroccan. Who was Khan?" She asked, her eyes catching Erik's behind his mask and then falling to her glass, watching a droplet as it ran down the side of the glass, splashing at the bottom as it met the rest of the liquid.

"Khan, Christine, was the surname of one of the few men who have ever treated me as his equal. His name was, and still is, Nadir Khan. You may not remember, but you met him at the beginning of our...acquaintance. He was the gentleman who treated you when you were ill. I made his acquaintance a long, long time ago in Persia, before you were even born. He was Daroga, chief of Police, who had been commissioned to bring me to the Palace of the Shah and work as his court magician. But it was not as simple as that. I was young, invincible. I...acted as I should not have. I killed for the pleasure of the Khanum, but became arrogant. Eventually, she tired of me and order my death. Nadir saved my life. He helped me to escape. He all but adopted me as his son, for his own had tragically died. I take his name as a sign of respect for him." Erik said, lifting his mask and downing the contents of the glass to then quickly refill it, his hand shaking. Christine clasped his free hand, pressing it to her cheek.

"Thank you for telling me Erik. I wish that I had been kinder to him when I met him, for if it had not been for him, I would never have met you." She whispered against his skin, and closed her eyes to battle the tears that threatened to well at the thought that Erik had opened up to her, had shared with her a small glimpse of his past.

"We should eat the picnic Christine that you spent so much time and effort preparing. I would not want it to go to waste." He said, and pulling from the hamper the rolls and cake, he placed them on the plate for her, doing the same for himself. His eyes trained on hers, his hand went to the side of his mask, and he slowly removed it, pulled it down bit by bit until the full of his face had been revealed. Christine smiled reassuringly and bit into her sandwich, her stomach rumbling, as she watched the river running by. She quickly ate both pieces of food, feeling satisfied and greedy, her stomach rumbling at her haste.

"It is so beautiful here." She stated, her eyes trailing from the river to Erik's eyes, as he chewed and swallowed his last mouthful

. "It is you who make it beautiful Christine. But yes, you are right. It is a pleasant sight for the eyes." He said, returning his plate and Christine's to the hamper, and crawling across the blanket, she curled up in Erik's lap, her back to his chest as she watched the world go by. Erik's stiff arms slowly settled around Christine's waist, and she snuggled closer to his chest, her head falling to his shoulder.

Time flew. It was not long before the long day began to close in and dusk settled upon the landscape. "We should return home. It is late and getting cold. I do not want you to catch a chill." Erik said, standing abruptly, and reluctantly Christine got up, stepping off of the rug as Erik seized it and folded it up, placing it below his arm and taking the hamper in his hand, with the other he took Christine's hand and they began their journey back to the house across the field, their cloaks wrapped tight around their bodies.

As they neared the house, the true reality of the situation set in. Tonight was their wedding night, and that meant that it would be the first time that they would be completely intimate with one another. The thought terrified her. She was self conscious of her body and dreaded the idea of Erik's seeing her naked. Perhaps they could leave the lights of? Maybe Erik himself would feel more comfortable that way? Butterflies danced within her stomach and she quivered like a leaf with fear. She knew that Erik would be gentle with her, that he would rather hurt himself than her, but she dreaded the act. Growing up in a neighbour like hers, she had heard many times vulgar talk of the other young women's first time with a man; the initial sharp pain as he broke your virginity followed by unexplainable pleasure if he treated you right. She could always fein a headache, Erik would understand. But it wouldn't be fair on him, her body was his lawful right. She would just have to calm her nerves.

"It is much better now, is it not?" Erik asked, resting back on his heels and stood, walking back from the now roaring fire to Christine's side where she sat upon the sofa in the living room, curled up against the arm.

"Much better, thank you Erik." Christine said, her voice choking with nerves,and Erik smiled wobbly, sitting down beside her and grasping her hands within his own.

"It seems that I am not the only one with nerves. Perhaps a glass of brandy would do us both good." He said, and she nodded, not trusting her voice. Squeezing her hand, he walked to the sideboard and pulling out the stopper, poured two tumblers of brandy from the crystal decanter, walking back to Christine and pressing one into her waiting hand. With a shaking hand, she raised the glass to her lips and took a small sip, the liquid burning as she swallowed the amber liquid. She could not meet his gaze. Downing his brandy in one, he placed his empty glass down and gentle grasped Christine's chin, lifting her eyes to meet his.

"You do not need to be afraid. We do not have to...do it, tonight. It is entirely your decision. I expect nothing from you Christine, nothing. I do not want you think that you would be hurting me if you said you were not ready. It is enough for me simply to have you here with me, by my side as your wife. I will not pressure you, Christine." Erik said, his voice falling like silk into her ear, caressing her, and felt her nerves calm. She knew she had nothing to fear.

"I...I thank you Erik for saying such things. But I want this. I want to...make you happy. My body is your right, and...and I want you to take it. I want you to make me yours Erik." She said quietly, her lower lips trembling at her words, and keeping eye contact, Erik leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, the taste of the alcohol on his lips sweet against her tongue. Her lips parting like the tight bud of a flower, Erik's daring tongue danced into her mouth, fighting with her own as his hands trailed the length of her back, fisting in her hair. Their lips still locked, Christine tucked her legs beneath her, and hitching her skirts, straddled Erik's lap, leaning his back against the sloped back of the sofa so that she balance Dover him, her curls falling past his chin. Their lips danced, the sound ringing in her ears, as her hands trailed down Erik's chest and worked their way beneath the many layers of Erik's clothing to press flat against the warm skin of his lower stomach. The contact of flesh upon flesh made them both gasp, and slowly, Erik broke the kiss, both breathing heavily.

"Christine, I...I must show you something." He said, his voice choking as he licked his swollen lips. He rose, holding his hand out to Christine, and she took it silently, rising to her feet. Erik seized a candle and walked to the fire, lit it from the flames, and they left the room,walking down the corridor until they stopped outside a foreign door.

"I have never brought you here before Christine. It is my laboratory." He said, and retrieving a key from his inner pocket, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, holding the candle aloft, and navigating the darkness, lit the candles that were ensconced upon the wall so that the room glowed in the soft light. He then walked to a table that was stacked with papers, chemicals and varying instruments. In a holder rested a glass vial of liquid, which Erik seized and pressed into Christine's hand.

"This, Christine, is the potion that will help me to...perform tonight. I must tell you that it does not smell nice, as it has been made with garlic and other herbs, but it should work." Erik said as Christine gazed transfixed at the clear liquid within the vial.

"Well that is all that matters."

"Oh Christine, how I love you."

** I'm so sorry to leave it just before the event that we have all been waiting for. To make matters even worse, I'm going on holiday tomorrow and will be away from an Internet connection, so I won't be able to post the long awaited chapter next week. I am so sorry, but I promise 'the scene' will be worth the wait. :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**Thank you so much for the kind reviews and wishes, I had a lovely holiday thank you! As you may have noticed, the rating for this chapter is M, so for anyone who doesn't want to read their adventurous wedding night, I'd probably advise you to skip this chapter! I was really nervous about posting this chapter as I have never written anything like this before, so I shall now go and hide beneath my duvet. Enjoy?! :) **

(Christine)

Erik stumbled up the stairs, unable to see past Christine's form pressed close to his chest as their lips locked and danced, her slim hands twisted and tangled in Erik's sparse hair. His hands were locked around back, fisted in her loose, tumbling curls.

"Christine." He panted, breaking the touch of their lips. " I shall leave you to prepare for bed whilst I...take my medication. Do not be long my love, for I cannot wait." He choked, pulling her to him for a rough embrace to leave her standing outside her door, her heart pounding and her knees trembling.

The sound of her breath resounding in her ears, with trembling fingers she turned the door knob and shut the door, pressing her back against the solid wood to prevent her knees from giving out from fear. Deciding that she wouldn't have time to bathe, she ran into her bathroom and splashed icy water on her face,chilling her flaming cheeks. Clutching the marble basin, she gazed intently at her reflection, taking deep steadying breaths. Shakily expelling, she left her bathroom and ran to her wardrobe, pulling out the lower draw to rummage through the silky nightmares. The feel of cottons, silks and lace beneath her fingers, she sat back on her heels.

'Should I wear a cotton nightgown with a high neck-line?' She thought to herself, but decided against it, daringly extracting a silky, slip-like gown with a low frilled neckline and ribbon lacing at the front. Pulling it from the draw, she nearly gasped at the transparency of the material. Blushing a deep shade of scarlet at the thought that Erik would be able to see everything through it.

'Do not be silly Christine. Erik is your husband. It is his right to see your body. You are a grown, married woman, not a blushing school-girl.' She thought scoldingly to herself, rising to her feet and walking to her bed. Crumpling the material in her hands, she dropped her night-gown to the bed and reaching behind her, fingers fumbling, she undid the lacing at the back of her dress, letting it pool at her feet as she undid the bindings of her corset to stand in her petticoat and stockings. She hurriedly pulled her petticoat off and slipped her nightdress over her head, gathering her clothes in her hand and hanging them behind the door in her bathroom, out of the way.

'My clips!' She thought exasperatingly, her hands feeling the jewel encrusted combs in her hair and running to her dresser, she pulled them out of her curls, wincing as they caught in her wild curls, and swiped sweet rose perfume on her wrists and behind her ears, desperate to smell nice for Erik. Her eyes stealing to the dividing door, she pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets, settling back against the pillows in a reclining position, gathering the covers tight against her chest. She couldn't settle, her eyes trained on the door. Restlessly, she sat up, smoothed her hair, then lay back again, her stomach turning. Glancing at her body beneath the covers, she gasped, for she had left her stockings on in her haste.

'Perhaps I could remove them before Erik come?' She thought, and pulling back the covers, she made to rise, when the diving door opened slowly, Erik's slim frame cast in deep shadows. Quickly pulling the covers back to her, she wriggled deeper, raising her face to Erik, a small, nervous smile upon her lips.

"Christine." He chocked, leaning heavily against the wooden door as he grippe the knob tightly, his knuckles prominent.

"Erik." She whispered, watching him. Dressed in black,silken pyjamas, a deep scarlet velvet dressing robe wrapped loosely around his frame,he appeared to Christine powerful, masculine. But his face betrayed his vulnerability. Mask-less, the few whisks of his hair brushed back away from his high forehead, his eyes betrayed his weakness. He, like her, was terrified. She knew that it was to her to take the lead.

"Erik. Come here." She pleaded, raising up against the pillows and spreading her arms wide, signalling for Erik to fill the cold space within her arms. Holding the spluttering candle close to his chest,he walked slowly to the other side of the bed, and placing the candle upon the table, removed his dressing gown and climbed into bed beside her, laying back slowly against the pillows. Christine lay down, turning to face Erik, and moving towards him, wrapped her arms around his waist and embraced him, one hand clutching the back of his skull to pull his head against her bosom, holding him to her tenderly. One long, tentative hand came up slowly against the creamy expanse of her chest revealed by her night-gown, feeling the beat of her heart fluttering beneath his fingers.

"It seems that I am more nervous than you Christine, and it will not even pain me physically." He said, his fingers trailing up her neck to dance at her cheek,raising his eyes slowly to hers.

"Do not be afraid Erik, for I am not. I know that you would never hurt me." She whispered, stroking his skull soothingly, and his eyes fluttered from watching his hands to her eyes, which were shining with love.

"Christine, I...I have taken the substance, but I do not know if it is working, or will work. I...I do not want to disappoint you." He said, lowering his eyes in shame, and cupping his chin, she raised his face to hers and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

"We can do nothing but try."

At her words,something seemed to spark inside Erik, and with a surge of courage he locked his lips with Christine's, shifting his long, cold body closer to hers as his arms wrapped around her waist. Christine sighed, her hands searching, longing to press against Erik's bare skin. Their lips dancing with wild abandon, Christine's fingers trailed to Erik's pyjama top, and began to undo the top button, but was stopped when he raised his hands and pressed them atop of hers, halting her movements.

Their lips breaking, Erik looked pleadingly at her, his eyes wide with fear, and squeezing his fingers,she slowly, slowly opened the button, leaning forward to press a kiss to every inch of skin as it was revealed to her desperate gaze. Once all the buttons were undone, Christine spread the fine material wide, running her hands over his bony, scarred chest, loving him with her hands and gaze. She leaned up to Erik, shaking her curls free around her so that they fell like a curtain as she supported herself over Erik, her heaving chest angled over his as she locked her lips with his, her tongue begging entrance to the sweet, warm cavern of his mouth.

Daringly, she broke the contact of their lips and began to press kisses to his face, gently lapping at the rough, sunken skin of his cheeks whilst Erik writhed beneath her at the foreign sensation, his golden eyes blazing within their deep sockets. Her tongue trailed languidly down his neck as he arched it in pleasure, her hands trailing up and down his hair-less, bony chest.

"Oh Christine, you unarm me." He said, and she pressed her full chest to his teasingly, and she almost purred at the sensation. "You must be an image, a figment of my warped imagination. You cannot be real."

"I am real Erik. And I am here with you. Touch me Erik." Christine whispered, grasping Erik's hand where it lay stiffly by his side and holding it within her own, placing it against her ample bosom, feeling his hand slowly cup around the full suppleness of her breast through her nightgown.

"Oh Christine." He said, awestruck,and with his hand still pressed to her chest, rolled her gently so that he hovered atop of her, his eyes dancing with an inner raging fire. His hand moved sensuously across her chest to the lacings of her nightgown, slowly pulling the ribbon through each eyelet, his tongue lapping each inch of creamy skin that was revealed to his seeking gaze.

"Erik. Oh Erik." She moaned, her hand clutched at the back of his skull, pulling his head closer to her chest. Growling in frustration, he grasped both sides of her flimsy nightgown and pulled, the material ripping under his effort, so that she way,naked and waiting, before his hungry gaze. His cool, sweet breath stirred across her skin and timidity struck her. Blushing, she crossed her legs and her arms across her bosom. His eyes roaring with desire, Erik gently caressed her face.

"My angel,you are beautiful. Your body has been sculpted by the hands of the Archangels. You are perfection. Do not hide." He gently grasped her arms and pulled the apart, burying his face in the valley between her full breasts,inhaling her rich,heady scent. One of her hands caressed his head, whilst the other trailed a path slowly down his chest, stopping at the waistband of his silk trousers. Curiously, Erik raised his head, his eyes meeting Christine's, willing her with them to continue her downward journey.

"Touch me. Trust me." He breathed, and slowly, so slowly, her hand dipped below the band of his trousers and slid down his smooth length, her fingers curving around. At the touch of her palm, a strangled cry broke from between Erik's lips and his head fell to her breast, quivering at the sensations her hand was eliciting. Almost instinctively, her hand began to move up and down his length, the silky smooth feeling of his skin gliding over her palm.

"Christine." He choked, his member hardening beneath the touch of her hand, and Christine almost laughed in joy.

"Erik, oh Erik. It's working. Erik." She said, tears in her eyes as she continued the motion of her hand, a tight knot settling at the base of her stomach that grew steadily as Erik continued to worship her body.

"It is you, Christine. All you." He gasped, fine beads of perspiration forming on his forehead at the exertion and Christine almost stopped her ministrations, remembering his age and fearing for his health. "You must stop, my love, or I shall finish too soon." He said, grasping her hand from around himself and cupping it with his own hand.

"Are you ready Christine?" He asked, brushing stray curls that had escaped across her face, and she slowly lifted her gaze to his.

"Yes." She whispered, and leaning forward, Erik's twisted lips touched hers, seeking, begging. The kiss was a distraction to the movement of Erik's body as he rolled over her, lining his hips up with hers. Knowing the next step, she wrapped her arms around his bony chest, pulling him against her as his tongue explored the sweet nectar of the cavern of her mouth. Lost in the kiss, she barely noticed Erik's hand move to his trouser and remove them until she felt his bare flesh touch her upper thigh, and she quickly broke the kiss, struggling to breath in her panic.

"Erik, I'm scared. How...how will it fit. It's so big!" She said, refusing to look down at the thing that was pressed against her thigh, the thing that she had recently been touching, bringing it to life.

Chuckling, Erik pressed a kiss to her bruised lips. "It is quite big, I admit Christine. It will hurt initially, but I will make it enjoyable for you, I promise." He said, cupping her chin, and she slowly nodded, locking her lips with his and her arms tight around his back to distract herself from the expectant foreign feeling. She couldn't stop herself gasping against Erik's lips as he slowly pushed in, his tip meeting her virginity, and cupping her face in his hands, he slowly pushed in to the hilt. She gasped at the sharp pain, tears spilling from her eye as her nails dug into the skin of Erik's back. She didn't like it, the feeling of him inside of her.

"Should I stop Christine?" He asked worriedly, but she shook her head, not trusting her voice, and slowly, so slowly, he began to move, his hips rocking against hers. She buried her face in his neck, each movement drawing a gasp from between her lips.

But the strange, painful feeling slowly disappeared, and each trust of his hips brought not pain, but pleasure, causing her to gasp at the blissful sensation,her legs locked around Erik's slim hips to increase that pleasure that she now craved.

"Faster Erik, oh faster." She moaned, pressing open, wet kisses to his chest and arms. Growling, he lowered his head to her chest, licking a trail between her breasts. The tight coil in her lower stomach grew, and with wild abandon, she threw back her head, crying out at the sensations that flooded her.

"Yes, my angel, that's right. Come undone for me." Erik roared, thrusting harder into her as a wave of orgasmic pleasure washed over her, and she screamed his name, falling back to the earth with a start. It was now Erik's turn.

Caressing his body whilst her lips danced with his, he thrust several more times and came, shouting her name, his warmth spreading inside of her, and she clutched him to her, feeling him quickly pull out of her and the warmth of virgin blood and semen trickle down her leg. Reaching out, she grasped the covers and pulled them over both of them, stroking Erik's sparse strands of hair as he wept.

"Christine. Christine. I...thank you. I never thought." He began, but she pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"Sleep now Erik. You must be tired. Rest, regain your strength, for you will need it." She said, pressing a kiss to his waiting lips, and within moments he was asleep upon her breast, his hand clasped firmly in hers. She lay for a long while, the sore feeling between her legs keeping her awake, and she gazed upon her beloved, watching his scarily thin chest rise and fall with every breath. Soon sleep overcame her, and curling up around Erik's form, fell into the realm of sleep, a smile upon her lips.

**That was unbelievably hard to write. I hope I did alright. Please leave a review and let me know what you think! Thank you :)**


	23. Chapter 23

**I'm so sorry that this update is late! I've been really, and still am, but I couldn't abandon my dear readers! On another note, have I lost readers by making my story M? Just curious as I didn't get a review from some of my 'regulars'. Anyway, moving on. Enjoy!**

(**Raoul**)- _the same time period as last chapter. _

"She will be mine. Soon. It won't be long now. She will be mine." He muttered, wringing his hands as a maniacal gleam came into his eyes.

"Sorry, Monsieur. Did you say something?" Georges, his manservant, asked, straightening Raoul's cravat as he readied for an evening at the Opera House.

Dismissing his valet with a wave of his hand, he walked to his mirror, regarding his handsome face in the flickering candlelight. The stress of finding his Christine had set creases into his smooth forehead and fine lines by his eyes. Transfixed, he ran a tentative finger over the lines by his eyes, feeling the little dips in his skin. Growling, he turned on his heel and skulked out of his room, slamming the door behind him. In the entrance hall, he met his brother.

"Whatever is the matter little brother? Has it been a while since you've had the pleasures of a woman? Are you finding it difficult to attract them? It's never been a problem for me." Philippe said, a smug smile of satisfaction upon his aged, handsome face and Raoul had to literally stop himself from assaulting his brother. How dare that smug bastard presume to know him.

"Whatever you say Phillipe." Raoul whispered, each word punctuating the air around them, and Phillipe coughed awkwardly.

"If we don't go know, little brother, there will be no time to mix before the show begins. If you're really lucky, I might even help you find yourself a woman. Would you like that, Raoul?" He asked, and Raoul stalked out to the carriage, brushing past the butler and snatching up his cloak, hat and cane. He climbed to the carriage, pressed into the corner, his blood boiling. He would ignore his brother. He'd been doing it for the last twenty years. Phillipe was fifteen years older than him and had always looked down on his 'little brother'.

"There's absolutely no need to be such a misery. Do cheer up. What woman would want a man who sulks like a child?" Said Phillipe, stepping into the carriage, and knocking the roof of the carriage with his cane, he sat down opposite Raoul, settling his voluptuous cloak about his shoulders and leaned back agains the plush interior of the carriage conceitedly, his eyes trained upon Raoul's face, piercing. How Raoul hated him. The wheels of the carriage rolled over the cobblestones, splashing puddles and soaking those who littered the streets at this time of night; the ladies of the night cackling with one another at the absurdity of their clients and the drunks, passed out in corners of staggering from one establishment to another in the search of , a commotion was heard outside and the carriage pulled to a stop.

"Please, just let me speak to him. I have information for him. I just want to speak to him." Could be heard, followed by the brusque reply of their driver.

"Guillaume, whatever is the matter. Why have we stopped." Phillipe called out, shaking his head and sighing at the impertinence of the driver for stopping them.

"I am sorry Sir, but there is a man here claiming to have information for Master Raoul. He says that it is urgent."

"Drive on. He can have nothing to say to Raoul." Phillipe said, but was stopped when Raoul jumped down from the carriage, walking up to the man. "Fine then. I shall go without you. You are old enough to take care of yourself. But if anything happens, I shall not be sorry. Drive on I said." And with a last glance from their driver, the carriage pulled off, leaving Raoul standing on the dirty, cobbled street, facing a Pierre, one his spies.

"Pierre." He said politely, inclining his head in greeting.

"Monsieur Raoul. I am sorry to trouble you, but I have information for you regarding your lost fiancée." The man, Pierre said, and Raoul's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. He had not been expecting that.

"What do you know? Tell me now!" He nearly yelled, clutching the man's arm in his excitement.

"I have found a man, Monsieur, who yesterday saw a man on horseback, a cloak pulled up over his face, with a young woman in front of him upon the horse, matching your description of your fiancée. I can take you to him." Pierre said, and not trusting his voice, Raoul nodded, following the man as he beckoned for him to follow. The man walked quickly, his long legs striding in front, and Raoul struggled to keep up with the fast pace.

"Keep up Monsieur. This is not a safe neighbourhood." They hurried through the streets, winding thought the warren of interconnecting back alleys and streets, until at last they arrived outside a tumbled-down house, supported by thick beams that had been propped up against the front to prevent it from collapsing. The dark, grimy atmosphere was almost repulsive to Raoul, but he swallowed his revolution, knowing that if it lead to Christine, it would be worth it.

As he stepped inside, following Pierre, he saw that within, the room was bare, save for a bed littered with children of all ages and a woman, clearly a lady of the night by her manner of dress and appearance. At the small table, a grimy glass of alcohol clutched in his hand, sat a man of about forty years, with sparse hair and a dirty overalls.

"Who's this Pierre?" The man asked, raising his face from the table to eye Raoul with glassy, beady eyes, and Raoul shuddered.

"My name is...Charles, Monsieur. My friend tells me that you have information about a certain man that you saw, riding on horseback with a young woman?" Raoul asked, prompting the man to remember, but doubting that his information would be of any use.

"Yes, I did. I'd been out drinking and was on my way home. I think I was walking down the street when I nearly collided with a horse. It was dark, as natural light doesn't really get through as the buildings are so close, but I could definitely see a woman on a horse.I thought it strange, you see, that such a pretty young woman would be out on her own, so I kept on looking, at her and the man behind her. And what I saw was odd, Monsieur. It seemed that beneath the hood of his cloak, something seemed to be glowing. It was like he had no skin on his face, as if it were just bone. It scared me. But then again, it could just have been a dream created by alcohol." The man said, scratching himself as he spoke, struggling to remember, and Raoul's brow furrowed.

"Do you have any idea where they were going? In what direction they were heading?" Raoul asked, taking a cautious step closer to the man, but quickly retreating at the smell that rose from him.

"Well, all I can say Monsieur is that they seemed to be in a mighty hurry. And they were heading in the direction of the river." The man said, his head collapsing against the table at his effort. That had been of no help at all. He was no closer to finding her.

"Thank you." He said curtly, stepping up to the man and placing a few coins on the table beside him, turning quickly on his heel and departing, Pierre following in his wake spilling words of thanks.

"I won't give up. This is not the end. She will be mine." He roared, like a wolf at the moon, and stalked off into the dark of the night, leaving Pierre to stand in his wake, watching him depart.

xXx

(_**Christine**__)- the next morning_

As the first tentative rays of the sun spilled through the wide french windows, pooling on her sleeping form and warming her exposed flesh, she sighed languidly, stretching like a cat, and slowly her eyes fluttered open, a smile of pure bliss upon her lips.

"Good morning my love." Startled at the smooth timbre of Erik's voice so close to her ear, she rolled over and was met face to face with her beloved.

"Good morning Erik." She said, trying in vain to stifle yawn, and Erik smiled lazily.

"It appears that I have worn you out. Perhaps we should take it easier from now on." He said, grinning, and she blushed at the remembrance of the night before. They had both been insatiable. Twice during the night they had woken up to fulfil each others desire, to collapse against each other afterwards, sweaty and panting but satisfied and complete. It had been new to both of them, the strange act of lovemaking, and yet now that they had begun, it seemed that there would be not end to the pleasures they could bring each other.

"I did not sleep particularly well. I was...rather uncomfortable, but the pain is not so bad now." She admitted sheepishly, burrowing beneath the covers to keep warm and to distract herself from the awkwardness of the conversation.

"I must apologise Christine. I should have been more gentle. I should not have asked so much of you. I was thoughtless, uncaring, to have caused you pain." Erik said, his eyes darkening, and Christine extended a hand from beneath the covers and cupped Erik's cheek.

"Erik, my love. I wanted this. I wanted you. I do want you. So badly that it hurts. It was not your fault that I was in pain. You could not help it. Whoever it was who took my virginity would have caused me pain temporarily. Please, do not fret, my heart. It is fading, the pain, anyway." She said, pressing a kiss to Erik's distorted lips, the covers wrapped tight around her body as she remembered that she was naked beneath the sheets. He responded to her action, his hands cupping her cheeks, taking the dominating role. A low rumble began deep in Erik's throat, and he roughly pulled her body closer to his, the covers slipping so that their naked chests were pressed against on another, their hands fisted in the others' hair, grasping, feeling.

"Christine. We must stop. I am too old for this much...excitement. What's more, if we were to do anything, I would need to take more of the potion." He rasped, pulling away from Christine's embrace, but missing the feel of her warm skin and sweet scent, and he chuckled when she pouted, running his finger along her lower lip.

" It is a course of treatment that I must take every day for two weeks. After that time, my...problem should be resolved, but of course there are no guarantees."

Unable to think of anything to say, Christine simply smiled and snuggled closer to Erik, resting her head against his chest, her fingertips tracing patterns across his skin.

"What are you think my cherub?" He asked, pressing a kiss to her wild, springy curls at the crown of her head, his hand rubbing up and down her spine soothingly.

"Nothing much. Just how happy I am to be here with you. And how hungry I am!" She added with a laugh as her stomach rumbled, and Erik chuckled, the sound resonating deep within his chest as Christine pressed her ear to his chest to listen.

"Then I must prepare my queen some breakfast in true regent style; in bed. But first I think it prudent that I quickly make my toilette and wearing some manner of clothing, for as attractive as you may find me, it is too early to see my naked form." Erik said, jokingly, as Christine pressed her hands to her mouth to stop herself from giggling.

"Avert your gaze." Erik said jokingly, scowling at her to comply, and she meekly raised a hand to her eyes, spreading her fingers slightly so that she could still see through. Thinking that she wasn't looking, Erik sat up in bed and throwing his legs over the edge, quickly stood up and bent over to retrieve his dressing gown, providing Christine with a perfect view of his behind. She giggled silently to herself, waiting for the sound of their connecting door to shut, and she lowered her hand and lay back in bed, rolling over to Erik's side and pressing her face in the pillow, inhaling the rich scent of her lover. She would be happy to simply lay there all day, basking in the after-glow of their love, but it was no time to be lazy. She would prepare her own toilette and then sneak back to bed. And Erik would be none the wiser.

Slipping into her bathroom, she used the toilet and quickly cleaned her teeth, hating the feeling of her sleep crushed teeth whilst she ran a bath, adding a good shake of scented bath crystals. As the steam rose and curled to the high ceiling, she stepped cautiously into the tub, testing the temperature of the water with her toe before sinking into the water up to her shoulders, not caring if her curls got wet or not. Grasping the natural sponge that sat guard upon the rim, she dipped it in the water and rubbed at her thigh, cleaning away the bodily reminder of last nights activities, her muscles relaxing in the delicious heat.

Hastily washing, she removed the plug and stepped out, wrapping a thick, fluffy towel around her middle and returning to her bedroom, skipping to the wardrobe and seized a chemise, knickers, stockings and a corset. Rubbing herself dry, she slipped on her stockings and knickers, pulling her chemise over her head and fumbling with the ties of her corset.

At the moment, a knock was heard upon her door, and yelping, she scrambled back into bed, settling back against the pillows. Biting her lip, she waited as Erik entered, carrying a tray laden with all manner of delicacies, and he slowly sat on the edge of her bed, his night garments and dressing robe hugging his slim frame.

"Christine, you did not comply with my instructions. I know that you have been out of bed. I can smell your bath crystals wafting from your gorgeous body. Why did you disobey me?" He asked in all seriousness, his voice deadly, but raging like sparks of electricity, his eyes glowing as he set the tray down on her sheet-covered lap and gazed at her directly with his penetrating glare.

"Because I am a bad girl Erik." She said seductively, trying hard not to smile at the thought that nothing could be kept secret from Erik- he was bound to find out.

"You cannot keep secrets from me Christine." He said, and Christine began to panic. Had he heard something about her, something that he had been keeping for this moment to reveal and punish her? It was then that this lips twitched, barely, and Christine nearly sighed. He had been joking.

"Erik, you had me worried then. I thought that I had done something terrible." She said, and he shifted closer, his fingers grazing her supple cheek.

"Of course not my love. I jest. I was a cruel joke, and I must apologise. But eat up, I do not want to distract your from your meal." He said, and rising, walked into his bedroom, leaving her alone with her breakfast. Pouting, she tucked into her breakfast, soon cleaning the plate.

Just as she was finishing the last of her fresh orange juice, the door opened and in walked Erik, smartly dressed in finely tailored black trousers, white shirt and dove grey waistcoat. He looked powerful, masculine and handsome. All mine, she thought to herself.

"Are you finished, my love?" He asked, walking across the room and taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

"Yes thank you Erik, it was most delicious." She said, placing the tray in Erik's waiting open arms, and he placed it on the floor by his feet, turning to grasp her hand in his.

"I am glad. Now hurry up, for today, my love, I want to take you for a ride."

**Thank you for reading. I must ask; should I continue with some chapters deserving the 'M' rating, or should I make the rest of them 'T'? Let me know what you think! :)**


	24. Chapter 24

**I'm really sorry that this chapter is posted later than usual. I've been really ill, and I've got lots of deadlines from school, but I promise I will never abandon this story, or my readers, I promise! :)**

(_Christine_)

"I am glad. Now hurry up, for today, my love, I want to take you for a ride."

Standing, he retrieved the tray and strode to the door, leaving Christine to get dressed. Erik had said that they were going to go for a ride, so slipping out of bed she waked to her wardrobe and flung the doors wide in search of a riding dress. Flicking through the racks, she settled upon a sapphire blue velvet gown, a sensible pair of leather ankle boots and dark woollen cloak to keep her warm in the chill air.

Dressing quickly, she spritzed her neck with sweet perfume and sat down in front of her dresser, grasping her silver monogrammed hairbrush. Holding a section of her hair at the roots, she carefully brushed the knots free, arranging her smooth curls on top of her hair with many bobby-pins, sliding a comb into the side.

'Perfect.' She thought to herself, pulling a curl free and twirling it around her finger. Letting it drop, she smiled at the softening effect it had upon her face. Pinching her cheeks lightly to bring some colour to them, she retrieved her cloak from her bed and left her room, shutting the door behind her.

Humming a simple tune to herself, she descended, hanging her cloak on a peg in the entrance hall as she passed on her way to the morning room. Brushing her fingers along the furniture as she walked, she sat in the window seat, the morning rays of the sun falling upon her slim frame and set her hair aglow.

She gazed listlessly out of the wide french windows, smoothing the skirt of her thick, heavy dress, as she waited for Erik. 'I hope he knows that I am here.' She thought to herself suddenly, sitting up, as her hand flew to hair in her panic, smoothing it to soothe her anxiety.

"Christine? Christine? Where are you?" Through the thick wood of the heavy door, she heard Erik calling, and running to the door, she quickly opened it, stepping out into the hall.

"Erik, I am here." She said, watching as Erik spun upon his heel and gathered her in his arms, pressing her head to his chest.

"My love." He whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, and cupped her face in his hands. "Are you ready?"Nodding, she took his hand and they walked to the hallway.

"Erik, where are you taking me?" Christine asked sweetly, batting her lashes, as she tied the ribbon of her cloak tight about her neck.

"It is a surprise Christine." He said, tapping her playfully upon the nose, and she giggled, pressing a hand to her lips as her brow creased in annoyance. Erik could be so cryptic sometimes. A ride where? Where would they be going? "Alright Erik." She said affectionately, linking her arm through his as they left the house, Erik locking the door behind them and placing the heavy brass key into his breast pocket, patting it for reassurance.

"It is a fine day, is it not?" Erik said, locking up at the pastel blue sky fringed with streaks of white cloud that looked like the candy floss that they sold at the fun fairs of Christine's youth.

"It is most fine, Erik." Christine said, skipping in front of Erik and sitting on the rim of the fountain, watching the fat carp swimming lazily beneath the water. Bending, Erik plucked a pretty, many-petalled scarlet flower from one of the many bushes, and striding to Christine's side, tucked it behind her ear, pressing a kiss to her supple cheek.

Proffering his hand, Christine rose and grasped it tightly, walking out of the boundary of their formal garden into the surrounding fields, trampling the fine blades of grass and wild flowers beneath their feet.

"Erik, where are we going? Are we going to the river again?" Christine asked, raising her face to the sky to watch as two pheasants rose from the dense woodland, flapping above their heads as they cried loudly.

"No, my love, we are not going to the river. But I am taking you somewhere just as special." He said, and stepping in front of him, she grasped the side of his cloak hood and pulled it back slowly, revealed his disfigured face to the world. Shying in natural reflex, his face turned to his shoulder, Christine gently touched his sunken cheek, turning his face gently to hers, feeling the gentle summers breeze caress their bare faces.

"But where Erik." Christine said, whining like a petulant child, and Erik's eyes momentarily blazed, suppressing his long engrained resort to anger.

"You will find out soon Christine, I promise. It is not much further, I swear my love." Erik said, a smile playing on his lips as he clutched Christine to him and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Alright Erik. I am sorry that I keep asking, but I am excited. You know what I am like." She said, smiling at her youthful ways, and Erik's face softened.

"You need not apologise, my angel. I forget sometimes how much of a child you really are." He said wistfully, gazing into the distance as if thinking of some long distant memory, and with wide eyes Christine cupped his chin.

"Shush my love. Do not speak." She said, stopping him in his tracks, and locking her arms around his neck, she pressed herself to him, her lips connecting with his as she sighed with pleasure. How she loved him. So very much that it hurt. When he hurt, she hurt too . She could not stand to see him upset, to have him thinking morbid, dark thoughts. Sighing, she broke the contact of their lips, pressing her forehead against his, sharing one breath.

"Christine." He whispered, his voice choked with emotion, and his molten golden eyes fluttered shut, overcome with raging feelings. "Christine, I do not deserve you. I do not."

"But you do. I deserve you, and you deserve me. We were made for each other Erik. Do you not feel it too. Last night, when we were one, it felt...it made me feel complete. Like I was a puzzle, nearly complete, and you were the last piece. We fit together, you and I. We were made by God himself for one another, and until we found one another the angels in heaven wept with sorrow." She said, shocked at the depth of her words, as tears pooled in her eyes and spilt down her cheeks.

He clutched her too him, lips locking and hands tangling. Words could not describe the outpouring of desire, love, need that passed between them as they expressed without words their attachment for each other. Panting, they broke apart, clutching each other tightly as their hearts beat as one.

Their eyes locked, they continued walking across the fields until they came to a low stone building with wide barn doors and open courtyard. Christine recognised it immediately. It was, of course, a stables.

"Oh Erik, thank you. I know now why you wanted to keep it a surprise. You are going to teach me to ride?" She asked, excitement bubbling over in her voice as she nearly squealed with joy, flinging her arms around his neck.

"However did you guess my love?" He asked jokingly, pressing his smiling face into her neck, revelling in the feel of his rough, cratered skin against the skin ivory of her neck. Stepping back, he cupped her face in his hands. "I must show you Cesare. He is the most kind natured horse you could wish for, and has been my companion for a many a year. I reared him from a foal. He stands 12 hands high and is a pure thoroughbred, but you have nothing to fear." Erik said, watching Christine's cheeks pale at the thought of such a powerful, tall creature beneath her.

They walked into the stable, stepping up to the taller of the two horses that stood within the barn, munching from the bundles of hay that were struck up for their feed. Drawing two sugar cubes from his pockets, he stepped up to both horses faces, standing between them and opening his palms. Each horse quickly devoured the cube, their lips slobbering upon his hand, and her rubbed their faces, watching in delight as they rubbed their heads against his hands.

"Come here Christine. Cesare is the milder tempered of the two. Ombre tenders to be a bit...rougher, but he's gentle at heart. Come, stroke Cesare's neck gently, he enjoys a neck rub." Erik said, beckoning for Christine to step closer to the horse. Glancing nervously between Erik and Cesare, she slowly walked up to the great animal and cautiously placed a hand against his strong neck. It wasn't so bad, she thought, and slowly began to stroke, watching as the horses shook his head in pleasure.

"See, my love, you are fine. How would you feel feeding him a sugar cube?" Erik asked, holding one out to Christine, and thinking quickly, her eyes trained upon the offered cube, she took it from Erik and went to stand by Cesare's mouth. Cupping her hand within his own, he guided it up to the horse's mouth. "The tip is to hold your hand completely flat. Let him take it from you." Erik said quietly, his face pressed close to her ear, and he guided her hand to the horse's mouth.

Sniffing, Cesare's slowly took the sugar from her hand, leaving a saliva trail upon her upturned palm.

"I did it Erik." She said proudly, grinning at Erik. He returned her smile, proffering his handkerchief from her to wipe her palm upon.

"Yes you did my love." He said, and she giggled in pleasure. She was so happy. She had always been terrified of horses. They had always seemed so big, so powerful and dangerous. But know she saw that there was nothing to fear really if you showed them that you meant them no harm.

"Would you care to sit upon him?" Erik asked, walking to the horses flank and running soothingly. Christine followed, mirroring Erik's action, as the horse whinnied, shaking his mane.

"Only if you hold me." She said, sizing up Cesare and praying that he would be good. She dreaded the thought of sitting on him, alone, but knew that Erik would never put her in danger.

"Of course my love. Just let me saddle him up. Oh, would you please retrieve the steps for me. They should be in the tack room next door." Erik said, turning from the horse to Christine.

"Sure, Erik." She said, and walked in the direct of the tack room. Upon entering, she quickly scanned the room, noting the many saddles and whips and items of equipment littering the room. In the corner sat the steps. Slipping to them, she picked up the surprisingly heavy item and returned with them to Erik, who was just tightening the straps of the saddle.

"Thank you Christine. If you just place them down there then I will help you onto him in a moment." He said, pulling the strap and then stepping back, making sure that the saddle was in place and not too tight against the horse. Proffering his hand, Christine grasped it firmly and climbed the steps, sitting sidesaddle upon Cesare.

"Now Christine, you have nothing to fear. Take hold of his reins and hold them tightly, but do not loop them around your wrist, for should he start it could break it. " He said, and Christine nearly fell off the horse in horror. She would be certain not to do that."How are you feeling my love?" He asked,touching her booted foot to reassure her.

"Quite alright Erik, thank you. I have become quite accustomed to the position." She said, shifting slightly to settle better against the tough leather of the saddle.

"How would you feel about going for a walk?" He asked, pulling Christine's dress down around her ankles and stroking the soft velvet material.

"I shall try it Erik. But I fear that I may have to stop." She said, scared at the thought of the animal moving beneath her and her not knowing how to properly control him.

"But of course,my angel. Whenever you feel uncomfortable or feel that you cannot continue, just let me know and you shall stop." Erik said, and Christine smiled, stroking Cesare's long midnight black mane.

"If you are ready." He said, and clicking with his lips, the horse began to walk slowly. Erik reached up and grasped the reins, his other hand resting against the horses flank, whilst Christine held the base of the reins for comfort. They walked out into the courtyard, the bright sunlight dazzling her momentarily.

Leading Cesare, they walked onto the field, stopping just behind the barn with a click of his tongue.

"Now Christine, I want you to shake the reins to get him to start walking." Erik said, and nodding, Christine complied. With a gasp, the horse began to walk forward, turning when Erik guided him gently by pressing his hand to his side. They continued at this pace for a while.

"Now press you legs against his sides and he will start to canter. If you want to slow down, pull on the reins lightly. However, if you want him to speed up, press harder with you legs. Do you understand my love?" He asked, striding beside her as Cesare continued to walk.

"Yes." She said, and her eyes trained on Erik, she squeezed gently with her legs...and Cesare began to canter, gaining speed. "I'm doing it Erik. Oh I'm so happy. I'm actually doing it." She said with a smile as Cesare gained speed, his mane fluttering in the breeze like a banner.

"Yes, my love, you are. All on your own. I am so proud of you my angel. My love." He said,stopping and leaving Cesare and Christine to continue alone, his eye melting and glowing with pride and love for his sweet, youthful angel.

**I'm sorry that not very much occurred within this chapter. I'm too ill to concentrate properly, but I felt that I had to make an effort for you all. I hope it wasn't too bad, and thank you for reading! :)**


	25. Chapter 25

**Thank you all so much for putting up with me! I promise that I will try my best to keep you entertained and this story interesting, and I just hope that I fulfil! :) **

(_Christine_)

"Christine, my love, how would you feel about leaving the safety of the field and going for a proper ride? We are surrounded by nothing but woodland and open fields for miles. I would ride Ombre and you would ride Cesare. How would you feel about that?" Erik asked, watching as Christine slowed the horse to a canter until it walked and stopped.

Whispering in his ear and rubbing his mane, Christine nestled back into the saddle and waited for Erik to guide Cesare back into the stable.

"Erik, you know that I would love to, but I'm afraid I must decline. I am not feeling too good. My head pounds. I think it may be the stress and the motion of the horse, for I was terrified of riding alone. But perhaps tomorrow, weather permitting." She said, watching Erik and he glided to her side, rubbing her calf soothingly as he seized the reins and then led them back inside.

"Of course my love. You need not apologise. Your health and well being are my priority. We shall return home, and I shall wait upon you hand and foot." Erik said, throwing Cesare's reins through a metal loop in the wall and securing them to ensure that he would not bolt when they departed. Retrieving a sugar cube from his pocket, he placed it before the horse,who quickly ate it, his velvet nose soft against Erik's calloused palm.

"Come Christine, I shall catch you." Erik said, his arms spread wide as he stood beside the horse, waiting to catch his precious angel. Cautiously, she slipped down from the saddle, caught in Erik's embrace and pressed tight against his chest, her head spinning.

"I must apologise Christine. I was thoughtless." He said pained, watching as Christine's brow furrowed as a bolt of pain shot across her head. She pressed a slim palm to her forehead in the vain attempt of aid, but it did little good.

"Don't be silly Erik. I am sorry that I have spoilt your plans. I would so loved to have gone for a ride through the woodland." She said mournfully, leaning heavily against Erik's slight frame as a wave of nausea washed over her.

"I must get you home to bed, my poor angel. I cannot stand to see you ill or in pain. Do you think you could manage walking, my love?" He asked, his eyes blazing with surging emotion at thought of his sweetest angel suffering, when it should be him who took the pain, the sickness, the hurt. It was not right for such an innocent lamb to suffer, when an old sinner was healthy. How willingly he would take her place, to suffer instead of her.

"I will try, Erik." Christine said, forcing a weak smile as Erik ducked so that she could sling her arm around his neck for support. Taking slow, tentative steps, they emerged out into the glaring sunshine, Erik shielding her eyes from the bright light with his hand. With as much haste as she could manage, they made their way back home. Near to home, a wave of dizziness washed over her and her knees buckled. She slipped and would have hit the ground hard if Erik had not been supporting her tightly.

"Oh my love." He said, and bending, sweating his arm beneath her knees and up into this arms, pressed tight against his chest.

"No Erik, you mustn't carry me. I am much to heavy. I shall hurt you." She protested, but was silenced when Erik pressed a kiss to her perspiring forehead, his face against her curls.

"My love, do not protest. You are ill and I will not let you walk. I could not live with myself if you were to get worse. You have a fever and cannot be expected to stand. We shall be home in a moment, and you shall be wrapped up in bed with a cool flannel pressed to your flaming brow as you slumber sweetly." Erik said, and surrendering, she sighed softly and curled up against his chest,her eyes heavy with illness. The motion of Erik's steps and her sickness made it hard to concentrate on distances, and it wasn't long before they were inside their home, ascending the stairs to her bedroom. Instead of entering her bedroom, as she had expected, they entered his, and kneeling at the edge of his bed, the mattress sinking beneath him, he pulled back the silken sheets with one hand and lay down his precious cargo.

"Would it alright if I undress you Christine? You could choke on your garments should I leave you in you day dress." Erik asked with modestly, kneeling by Christine's feet and unlacing her boots so that they dropped, one by one, to the floor.

"Yes Erik." She muttered, her eyes drifting shut as Erik untied the lacings of her cloak and pulled it off. She could barely remain upright as he worked each layer off, until she sat shivering in her shift and stockings.

"Christine, lay beneath the covers." Erik said, his voice barely penetrating her addled brain. His eyes softening, her guided her arm, pulling the covers up over her shivering body.

"I'm so cold Erik." She mumbled through chattering teeth, her head tossing upon the plush feather pillows. Pressing a hand to her forehead, he nearly hissed at the heat. She was positively burning up. She had a fever, that much was obvious.

"I know, my love, I know. I cannot apologise enough. It pains me to see you so ill. But you cannot have a blanket. You must stay cool. It is the only way to get better." He said soothingly, stroking the damp curls from her forehead as her eye lashes fluttered. "You must sleep, Christine. It is the only way to get better. I shall get a cold towel to cool your skin and a glass of water. It is essential that you drink a lot to flush the illness from your angelic body." He said, and pressing a kiss to her cheek, his eyes lingering upon her flushed face, he departed from the room in search of cooling aids.

She could not sleep. Her eyes were heavy,as if tired, and yet every time they closed they would open again. The sheets stuck to her perspiring body, and yet she shivered, rubbing he arms futilely. She needed Erik. Where was Erik?

"Erik." She called weakly, like a newborn meowing kitten, and waited for him to reply. Nothing. It was obvious that he was out of ear-shot, or else he would have rushed to her side. Her aching neck falling back against the soft pillows, her eyes fluttered shut and she fell into a deep, fitful slumber in which she dreamed frightful, realistic dreams where horses ruled the land and she had to Paris before it struck midnight wearing glass slippers that kept breaking beneath her feet with the glass grinding deeper into her flesh, the blood pouring from her soles. With a start, she awoke, her heart racing and with little recollection of her surroundings.

"Where, where am I?" She asked, struggling to sit up, the cool flannel slipping from its position upon her forehead, failing as her arm muscles gave out and she fell back against the headboard wearily.

"Shush,my love. You were sleeping. I am here. You have no need to worry." Erik said soothingly, stroking Christine's wild curls from where they stuck to her face. Suddenly, she remembered everything. She knew where she was. In the countryside, far away from Paris and the wild ruling horses. Safe.

"What..what time is it?" She asked lazily, rubbing her sleepy eyes as she accepted the glass of refreshing icy water that was proffered by Erik, her weak arms shaking with the effort.

"It's six o'clock Christine." He said, retrieving his solid gold pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and noting the time by the flickering candlelight. Six o'clock? That meant that she had been asleep for...she was too ill to think. Her mind could not cope with the sum.

"Would you care for a bite to eat?" Erik asked, taking the flannel from the pillow and placing it upon the beside table. Her voice failing her, she nodded weakly, and Erik rose from his chair beside the bed, bending over her prone form and stroking her curls.

"I may be a while. If you need me, ring this bell. I will hurry, I swear. Rest easy, my sweet." He said, a taking a small silver bell from his trouser pocket and placing it upon the table, he took the flannel and left, his eyes trained on her. Watching. Assessing. Loving.

As Erik left, the realm of sleep became within grasp and she seized it, curling up beneath the silken sheets, seeking warmth and comfort. She felt trapped. Suspended in a bubble, she floated above the house and over the countryside, watching life being loved beneath her. Lights that shone from houses that were dotted within the depths of the forest, people stumbling thought the streets as she passed over a village, watching streams of smoke rise and curl up into the inky darkness of the night sky. She wanted to escape from her bubbly prison,pressing her hands to the filmy walls,but unable to break through. She was trapped. She began to panic. Semi-conscious, she tossed and turned, moaning and whining, caught between the realm of dreams and reality.

Her eyes snapping open, she awoke. The room was empty and the candle had bee blown out by the breeze that blew gently through the window that had been thrown wide to cool the room and Christine's flaming skin. With much effort, she reached over to the little draw of the bedside table and fumbled inside, hoping desperately to find a box of matches. Success. Drawing them out, she fumbled with the box and retrieved a match,her fingers shaking as she struck the side of the box.

"That's probably not a good idea my love." Said Erik from the doorway as he entered the dark room, a candle upon the tray that he held within his hand to light his way through the dark house. Walking to the bed, he played the tray upon Christine's lap and the candle upon the table, illuminating the room once again. It smelt heavenly. A steaming bowl of fresh chicken soup with chunks so different vegetables. Her mouth began to water and her growled. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and yet didn't feel that she could manage much.

"Just try a little Christine. It will make you feel better." Erik said, taking the tray from her lap as he resumed his seat beside the bed, taking the spoon within his hand. Dipping it into the steaming broth, he held it out to Christine, his hand cupped underneath to prevent it from dripping, as she leant forward and accepted it, a little dribbling down her chin which Erik quickly wiped away with his finger. She felt like a little child again, being fed by her father. She could not linger upon the thought, it was too painful.

After several mouthful, she found that she had had sufficient and the effort had made her tired once again. Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, she smiled sheepishly at Erik.

"Sleep now,my love. Rest is the best medicine. I shall remain by your side. Do not fret,just sleep." Erik said lovingly, squeezing her hand that lay limply upon the sheets, and leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and cheek, stroking her hair as she lay back against the pillows, her eyes drifting shut.

"Sleep well, my angel." He said, and his voice, his rich, melodic, hypnotic voice singing her a soothingly lullaby to aid her dreams, his eyes and his heart softened with pure, unadulterated love.

**Sorry about that. I hadn't originally intended to make Christine ill, but hey, sometimes things just go like that. And I can share Christine's pain. I've only just recovered by a terrible cold, so I guess that's the inspiration for this chapter! Anyway, thank you for reading! :)**


	26. Chapter 26

**Thank you so much for being patient with me. It's been really difficult to write and post recently, what with being ill and then have tons of essays and coursework from school, but I've been trying to get on top of it, so I much apologise if this story is a bit...awful at the moment. I promise it will get better!:)**

(_Erik_)

He sat with her throughout the night whilst she tossed and turned as if tugged by the oceans waves, crying out in within her wilds dreams as her skin blazed. He could not rest. Not whilst his beloved was in pain. Many nights had he spent servant to his music, toiling away through the night by the light of a flickering candle.

"Erik." She moaned, her eyelid half open as she scrabbled for his hand, her limbs weakened by illness.

"Shush, my love. I am here." He said soothingly, bending over her half conscious form and smoothing the wild curls from her perspiring forehead. Beneath her lids, her eyes roved, distant and unfocused. She was deep within the grasp of fever. He doubted she even knew that he was there. How he worried about her.

"I'm so thirsty Erik." She said, her head tossing upon the pillow. By the golden glow of the candlelight, the beads of perspiration that glistened upon her skin glowed like diamonds.

"Drink then, my angel. Can you raise your head a little so you don't choke." Erik said, holding the glass of crystal water within one hand and with the other, cupping the back of Christine's head and raising her slightly from the pillow. Holding the glass to her lips, he poured slowly, a little dribbling from her lips as she struggled to swallow. Pressing his handkerchief to her lips gently, he lay her back against the pillows, caressing her raging forehead.

"Erik." She choked, her head turning weakly to face him. "Erik, please don't let me die. I'm scared." She said, her lips trembling, and Erik sharply inhaled, the glass nearly slipping fro, between his fingers.

"Christine, do not say such things. I would never let that happen. I would die a thousand terrible deaths before anything every happened to you." He vowed, pressing her hand to his malformed lips and peppering it with kisses, his lids squeezed shut as he suppressed the tears that welled beneath them.

"Hold me Erik." She pleaded weakly,sighing with the exertion of speaking. Kneeling upon the bed, he placed his arms around her waist, and lifting carefully and gently, he enclosed her within his arms, his legs spread either side of her body as he laid her against his chest. Whimpering, she curled up against him, her hands resting lightly against the silken material of his waistcoat.

"Shush my love, you must never say such things. Never. You are not going anywhere. You are sick, but you will not die. You will not die. You cannot leave me Christine." He whispered against her curls, rocking her gently to send her back to sleep.

"Erik...I want you to know that I love you." She mumbled, her eyes drifting shut with exhaustion as she returned to the realm of dreams.

"And I love you. So much that it hurts in here Christine." He said, pressing Christine's limp hand against his pulsing heart. He continued to hold her tight to him, as she snored gently, his eyes trained upon the regular rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. For the moment, it was all that he could do, but just that simple detail reassured.

He had to do something. As he sat there, he remembered a recipe he had been taught a long time ago in Persia to cure fever and high temperatures. But he didn't want to leave his angle. What if something was to happen whilst he was away? Watching her tossing within her sleep, clutching his lapels weakly, he knew that he needed to do something.

"Christine, I don't know if you can hear me, but I must go and make you some medicine. It will make you feel a lot better. I shall not be long, I promise." He whispered into her ear, tucking her wild curls behind her ear and pressing a kiss to her forehead. He gently removed her hands from his lapels and tucking her head into the crook of his elbow, lay her down gently against the pillows.

"Erik." She moaned, her eye lashes fluttering as she was separated from her love.

"I am here Christine. Sleep, my love." He said, grasping her warm hand within his own cold one, resuming his seat beside her bed so as not to disturb her. To aid her sleep, he let the full, rich quality of his voice escape from between his lips, wrapping Christine in its hypnotic cocoon. Within moments, she was asleep again, the crease of pain smoothed from her brow.

Caressing her silken cheek, he hurried downstairs to his laboratory, collecting vials and jars of different herbs and liquids. Placing all upon his counter, he set his Bunsen burner blazing and opened the jars, placed a pinch of yarrow, elderflower flowers and a few peppermint leaves, grinding them with a little liquid to form a paste. He held this over the burning flame until a glossy amber liquid was formed. Dipping the tip of his little finger into the liquid, he licked it clean, tasting it. It was a little bitter, and taking the ceramic bowl off of the heat, he placed it upon side and walked quickly to the larder to find some honey to sweet it up.

Selecting the jar from the shelf, he glided back to his laboratory and scooped a small blob into the warm liquid, swirling it to melt the sweet honey. Dipping his finger in lightly, he tasted it. Much better. It would be find for Christine now, and her sweet tooth.

Holding the rim of the small bowl, he returned to the kitchen, taking a silver spoon from the draw. By now, the ceramic had cooled enough to hold, and so almost running, he returned to Christine. Entering the room, he could sense immediately that something was wrong. Slipping to her side, he put the bowl down and kneeled by her side, gathering her to him. Her skin blazed more than it had before and her breathing was shallow and rough as she inhaled.

"Christine? Christine? Christine, can you hear me? Christine." He called, shaking her shoulders gently as her head lolled against his shoulder.

"Mmmhhmmm." She murmed, her eyes rolling back into her head.

"Christine!Christine!" He cried, the tears spilling from his eyes as he shook her gently. "Christine, answer me. Oh Christine!" He moaned, his face falling against her soft curls. He remembered the herbal remedy that he had made, and turning quickly, seized it.  
"Christine, I have some medicine here that will help. Open your lips slightly." He said, not knowing if she could hear as he propped her up against him, placing the bowl against her lips. At the feel of the ceramic,her lips parted slightly and he managed to pour the amber liquid into her mouth without spilling too much.

"Swallow Christine, please." He pleased, watching as her throat worked weakly. He then remembered that a luke warm bath would aid a fever, and so gliding into the bathroom, he placed plug in the hole and turned on the taps, his hand under the stream of water to ensure that it wasn't to hot or cold. Turning to the airing closet, he retrieved a fluffy warn towel, placing upon the side of the bath to wrap her up in later. Willing the water to run faster, he waited until the bath was half filled, and turning off the taps, ran back to Christine. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the bathroom, lowering her gently into the water in her nightgown. It would take too much of her scarce effort to remove it. As she submerged beneath the water, the flimsy material pooled around her slim frame and became see-through. In any other instance, it would have aroused him to see the material so tight over her frame, but not now. His love was perilously ill.

He cupped her head within his hand, keeping her head above the level of the water so that she did not drown in her unconscious state. With the other, he caressed her cheek, splashing the warm water up over the exposed skin, praying to a God he did not believe in to keep her safe and alive. He pleaded and bargained; if God would save her, he would be a better man, he would attend Church, he would believe, if only his Christine lived.

Dipping his hand beneath the water, he gently grasped her arm, pulling it out of the water to test the temperature of her skin. It still blazed, but was cooler than it had been. If only he had a thermometer, how useful it would be. Pressing his hand to her forehead, he guessed that it had to be just over 100. It was going down, but so slowly. His Christine was so ill.

"Christine, my love, can you hear me? Christine, please tell me you can hear me." He sobbed, cupping her chin within his palm to stop her head from tossing against the hard ceramic of the bathtub.

"Mmhhhmmmm." She moaned, lashes fluttering, her lips working as if she were trying to speak, but failed to form proper words.

Deciding that she had been in the water long enough as the water had cooled substantially, he placed his shirt covered arms beneath her knees and just under the armpits, the water seeping into the fine material of his shirt, and placed her down upon the mat, standing upright but leaning against him, his shirt soaked by her wet frame. Taking no pleasure from it, he seized the flimsy material of her nightgown at the neckline in his firm grip and pulled, ripping the fine material down the front so that it fell in a wet puddle to the floor. To prevent her from getting too cold, he quickly turned, and seizing the towel, wrapped it around her quivering frame.

Rubbing her skin gently so as not to warm her any further,he dried her skin, and few rapping it tight around her, scooped her into his arms and returned her to the bed, laying her gently upon silken sheets. She would need a new nightgown, he thought, and so hurrying to her wardrobe, seized a thin cotton one with a low rounded neckline and thankfully buttons down the front. Returning to the bed, he took a seat beside her, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, and undid all of the buttons.

Unwrapping the towel from around her, he wriggled the material beneath the body and gently taking each arm, placed them thought the arm-holes, pulling the fine material together at her front and doing up each button, his fingers fumbling with the small pearl buttons.

"Er...Erik." She said weakly, her eyes opening, staring glassily at him as he straightened her nightgown and pulled the light blanket up over her frame. He decided that it would be better to keep her above the sheets as it was retaining her heat.

"Christine, oh Christine. I'm here." He said, peppering her forehead with kisses, his hand upon her cheek.

"Erik, Erik please tell Amelie to be quiet. Mamman does not feel well, as she is being too loud." She whispered, her head rolling upon the pillow as she pressed her hand weakly to her forehead.

"Christine, we have no children. We do not have a daughter called Amelie. There is no one here but you and I." He said, near to tears at the fact that she was hallucinating.

"We do Erik. We do." She muttered, her voice fading as she returned to her tortured dreams. But she could be no more tortured than Erik. He sat beside her thought the small hours of the night, watching her, his eyes unblinking, not knowing what to do to make his love better. He could not sleep. He would never sleep again. He would not move one inch until he was sure, he was certain, that she was well again.

**Thank you so much for reading. I'm sorry for do this, but don't worry, things will get better! :)**


	27. Chapter 27

(_Erik_)

A week. He had scoured every book he had upon illness and medicine whilst Christine slept. The last book he had found, tucked at the back of the shelves and covered by many years accumulation of dust, had contained the answer he so desperately sought. It would take a week for Christine to recover from her fever, providing that she had plenty of bed rest and drank lots of fluids. The former was not a problem; every moment was spent tossing within Erik's silken sheets whilst he sat patiently beside her, waiting for her to awake from her vivid dreams to return to them again a moment later. It was the latter that was a problem. She would not drink. The little she took had little affect. Her lips were dry and cracked and her cheeks were pale and sallow. The many books that he had read upon the subject all stated the urgency of drinking plenty of fluids, whatever they may be. Water, juice, tea, it mattered not.

Hastily returning the book to the shelf, he hurried to the kitchen and fetching a pitcher, filled it with fresh, icy water, retrieving a glass on his way back upstairs. Slipping into the room, his eyes scanned Christine's sleeping form, the way that she was spread across his bed like a starfish, her curls scattered across the pillows and her arms flung wide. With a crease of worried etched deeply into his forehead, he resumed his seat beside her bed and waited for her to wake.

It did not take long. Just as the first tentative rays of the golden sun spilled through the wide french window, Christine cried out in her sleep, her lashes fluttering slowly open.

"Good morning Christine. I have a fresh glass of water here. Would you please drink. You must drink, my love, in order to get better." Erik said, his rich melodically voice dripping like honey into her ear and penetrating the many fuzzy layers of illness that clouded her brain.

Without a word, she raised her head weakly from the pillow, her head pounding and heavy upon her weak neck. Cupping her head within his palm, he raised the glass to her lips and poured gently, watching her hand flutter weakly as she tried to raise it to hold the glass, flopping back against the covers with the effort. After several sips, she 'mmhhdd' quietly against the glass, signalling to Erik that she had had enough for the moment.

"You must drink frequently Christine. Next time you wake, I want you to finish the contents of this glass. Can you do that for me, my love?" He asked, and falling back against the pillow, she nodded weakly. Bending over her weary form, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, feeling against his lips the subtle change in temperature; it had gone down by at least two degrees. And that meant only one thing. That she was slowly getting better.

"Erik." She whispered, as she curled up beneath the covers, and he resumed his seat beside her slumbering form. He felt so helpless. There was nothing that he could do for her. All she needed was time. As he gazed loving at her restless form, he was struck by inspiration. A melody appeared before his eyes, the succession of notes dancing to form whole refrains. With a silent gasp, his eyes trailing her form, he rushed to his desk, opening the draw wide and retrieving a stack of manuscript paper and his quill and ink pot, imagining each individual note repeatedly so as not to forget.

Leaning upon the sturdy wood of the bedside table, he scribbled the notes upon the paper, the music flowing from his fingertips as the melody played in his head, the way that it would sound played upon a grand piano. The lilting gentle melody that signified his Christine, the sweet innocence of her love and beauty and her continual, positive presence within his life. Suddenly,before his eyes and with little thought, the music changed; it became darker, more desperate with fear and anguish at the sudden illness of his love, the thought that she may succumb to death and leave him forever. The desperate, deep notes and harsh, clashing cords that were his frantic thoughts and desperation. His shoulders hunched and the notes became a spiders scrawl in his hurry as the music poured from some deep well within his, like rising water breaking the surface and pooling above. His eye strayed to Christine as he composed, and the tone of music shifted again. Still harsh, it reflected the temperature of her raging skin; it became flaming and almost sensuous.

At it had begun, the inspiration ceased and he stopped, laying his pen down, his eyes scanning his work. It would need more work, he could see flaws scattered throughout that made his fists clench at his stupidity. He had devoted himself to nothing but music for years, and this was the product.

Unable to look at this monstrosity any further, he quickly opened the draw of the beside table and flung the used sheets inside, shutting it hastily. Out of sight, out of mind. He would forget all about it and try again later. But now, he would do nothing but watching his slumbering love, noting every rise and fall of her chest with precision, his agile mind scanning his years of experience for something that he could do to help her.

-  
After three days of sleepless nights, with scarce hours caught when possible, and unadulterated worry Erik woke from a brief slumber to see Christine lying with her face turned to him, her chocolate eyes wide and open, blinking steadily as her chest rose and fell beneath the the covers that covered her lightly shivering body.

"Christine." He said breathlessly, hardly believing the sight before his eyes, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek,and she rubbed he soft,plump cheek against his calloused palm. Her skin was still hotter than it should be, but it had lost the flames that blazed beneath the surface.

"Erik." She said hoarsely, her voice harsh and rough from lack of use during the days when a raging fever gripped her body and held her captive within its burning grip.

"How are you feeling my love?" He asked, watching as she struggled to raise herself from her reclining position, her limbs weak and shaking from the effort. Rising from his seat, he slipped to the other side of the bed and piled the pillows one of top of the other so that she could sit up, but still remain reclining slightly. As she settled against the pillows, she pressed a hand to her forehead, the blood rushing to her head and a wave of dizziness passed over her.

"Tired, mostly, and thirsty." She said, forcing a smile, and watched as Erik grasped the freshly filled glass of waters that sat on the bedside table, and perching on the edge of the bed, raised the glass to her lips. With much effort, she raised her hands to cup Erik's, and drank slowly, but deeply, her throat dry and parched from sleep and illness.

"Would it be alright if I were to leave you for a moment. You must eat to regain your strength. Nothing too heavy, just a little something to line your stomach. Will you be alright?" He asked, rising from the bed and standing beside her.

"Of course. I will probably return to sleep anyway Erik. Do not worry." She said, curling up against the pillow as he walked towards the door.

"Erik." She said, lifting her head from the pillow. "May I please have another blanket, or covering of some sort. I am so cold." She said, shivering, and with an inclining of his head, he took a folded blanket, one that had always covered his bed, and shaking it out, spread it over Christine's form, tucking it gently around her.

"Better?" He asked, stroking the curls back from her upturned heart-shaped face.

"Much, thank you." She said, snuggling her face against the pillow, her eyes drifting shut with the comfort the extra covering provided.

Looking back once at his beloved from the doorway, he left quietly, his tread gentle as he shut the door behind him.

xXx

An hour later, Erik re-entered the bedroom, in his arms a tray laden with a bowl of freshly made, steaming tomato soup, a plate of dry crackers and a teacup of freshly brewed mint tea. Placing the tray upon the table, he resumed his seat beside the bed, waiting for Christine to awake.

As he settled into his seat, her eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as she cleared the film of mist that covered her eyes, focusing on Erik's frame that was enveloped in the shadows of the high-backed armchair.

"Hello Christine." He said with a smile, retrieving the tray from the table and placing it upon his lap.

"Hello Erik." She said, her eyes straying from his hypnotic golden eyes to the tray that rested upon his lap. "What's this?" She asked, one brow raising quizzically at the strange, pale pastel green liquid that was within the teacup.

"I made you some warming tomato soup, and a few crackers. They will line your stomach, but are not too heavy or sickening. And within the cup is freshly brewed mint tea. It may not taste the nicest, but it will settle your stomach." He said, the tray grasped firmly within his hands as he rose, settling it upon her lap, sinking back into the soft mattress beside her, perched upon the edge of the bed, his eyes dancing at the progress that Christine had made within a matter of days. She was sat up, having a proper conversation with him, whereas only a few days before she had been deep within the clutches of oblivion.

"I don't think I'll be able to eat much." She said, picking up the spoon and dipping it into the rich red liquid. Erik removed the teacup from the tray and placed it upon the table so that it didn't get spilt.

"Erik, have you eaten?" Christine asked, sipping the warming liquid from her spoon, her face turned towards Erik, watching him as he watched her. She lowered her eyes, slightly overcome at the intensity of his gaze, her eyes returning to her food.

"Thank you, yes. I had a bite to eat whilst I made your meal." He said, his heart beating fast as he watched her eat. He longed to take her into his arms, to kiss her lips until they were bruised and swollen. He wanted to see her sprawled beneath him, her head tossed back with wild abandon as he...mentally berating himself, he shook his head to clear the sinful thoughts. She was still ill. It was not right of him to think such things about his ill wife. But it had been days since he had felt the touch of her lips against his, the feel of her silken skin. He wanted her.

He was broken from his thoughts as Christine took a sip of the mint tea, a look of pure revulsion and disgust upon her face, and Erik couldn't help but chuckle, the deep throaty sound reverberating around his thin chest.

"I'm sorry Christine, I did not mean to laugh." He said, as she glared at him in mock irritation, quickly placing the teacup upon the table and taking a long sip of the icy water to remove the taste of the mint.

With a weak smile, she lay her head back against the pillow, and sensing that she needed to rests, Erik removed the tray from her lap, pulling the blankets up to her chin and stroking her curls soothingly as she drifted off to sleep. He had nothing to fear anymore. His one true love was getting better; in a few days she would be completely recovered and then their life could return to normal once again.


	28. Chapter 28

(_Christine_)

She was so tired. She could not think of anything but how weary she felt, as if her limbs were made of lead. It was an effort to keep her eyelid open. But sleep scared her. Her dreams were so vivid. One moment, she would be wandering through think, dark forests and the next plunged into the the raging fires of hell. The only continuation between them was the children. In each dream, a dark haired, golden eyed child with flawless porcelain skin and voices like musical bells would be her guide through the uncertainty.

"What is your name?" She asked her current guide, a young girl with chocolate ringlets and rosy cheeks. The little girl let go of her hand, and guided Christine to sit upon the fallen log that rested beside the flowing, turbulent river.

"Amelie." She said, her child voice as pure and innocent as her beauty.

"What a pretty name." Said Christine with a smile. The young girl, Amelie, was adorable. How she would love to have a daughter like her, to plait her hair and teach her the secrets of life.

"Christine, its time for you to go now."Amelie said, dissolving before her eyes. Christine tried desperately to retain her hold on her hand, but it crumbled to nothing.

"No, come back Amelie. Come back." She cried, her eyes snapping open, to be greeted with Erik's concerned face, his hand cupping her cheek as she tossed her head.

"Sshhh Christine, its alright. I'm here. Do not fret. You were dreaming." He said soothingly, stroking her forehead as she regain her ragged breath, her sleep and illness addled brain slowly clearing.

"But it felt so real Erik." She said, her eyes scanning his face, seeking assurance, longing the deep crease of worry to flee from his already marred flesh.

"It would Christine. That is the problem with fever dreams. The illness still resides within your body, and it is trying to fight it. It taking its time to make you better, and as a result, it can make you hallucinate and dream things that seem so real, but that are in fact just a figment of your imagination." He said, seating himself beside her upon the bed and gathering her into his arms, her head pressed against his chest as he rocked her gently.

For a many minutes, they sat like that, revelling in the company of one another. Erik held Christine close, relishing the solid feel of her weight, the supple softness of her body. His eyes raised to the sky, he sent a silent thanks to God for his love. He had kept his side of the bargain, and now it was Erik's turn.

"Erik." Christine said slowly, her hand trailing up his chest to grip the collar of his shirt. "Within my dreams I saw children. They..." She trailed off, her cheeks flaming. Cupping her chin, he lifted her face so that she was forced to meet his penetrating gaze.

"What Christine?" He asked gently, guiding and encouraging her for a response.

"They had hair like mine...and golden eyes like yours." She admitted, blushing a deeper shade of scarlet. She couldn't stop thinking about them. Was it a sign sent by God himself? She and Erik had consummated their love several nights ago. Could she be pregnant? But surely not.

"As I said Christine, they were just a figment of your dream. Perhaps your subconscious is desperate for motherhood?" He said, and her hand strayed unconsciously to the flat planes of her stomach.

"Perhaps." She mused, stroking her stomach through the material of her nightgown. "Erik, may I have a sip of water?" She asked, and upon her request Erik immediately retrieved it for her, pressing the glass into her waiting hand.

She drank slowly, her curls falling across her face. With a tender stoke of her cheek, Erik tucked her long curls behind her ear, his hand lingering upon her face. His eyes scanning her face, he gradually leaned forward, his face inching closer to hers. Slowly, gently, his lips settled against hers, both sharply inhaling at the pleasurable contact.

"I'm sorry Christine." He whispered, pulling away lingeringly, the silence of the room broken by the pop of their lips.

"Erik." She cried, as he stood hastily, his hands trembling as he strode to the door. She struggled to sit up, the blankets clutched tight to her chest as she extended her hand desperately towards him.

"I shouldn't have Christine. You are ill and vulnerable. I have abused my power over you. You shall not see me for the rest of today." He said, emotion tainting his smooth melodic voice and left the room, the door closing loudly behind him as he fled. With tears in her eyes, she huddled beneath the covers, her body wracked with shuddering sobs as she cried bitterly. When would he learn that she loved him so very much, that she wanted him to kiss her with the passion that flowed through her veins. She could see that he wanted her, wanted to pin her beneath him as he lavished her with kisses. How long would it be before he saw, truly saw, that she was his for the taking?

xXx

(_Erik_)

He knew not where he fled. His thoughts were filled with nothing but thoughts of Christine, crying out in pain as he pinned her beneath him, his tainted sinful mouth on her angelic body, hurting her, destroying their love. He had to rid himself of such thoughts. For nearly fifty years he had abstained from physical relations, he had coped through those painful youthful nights of longing, had come to accept that he was not meant to experience the pleasures of the flesh. So why was it now so difficult for him resist?

'Because you have a young, supple wife who can bring you pleasure with the touch of her hand and the feel of her body.' His traitorous mind said, and he nearly cried out in frustration. There was nothing for him. He would have to throw himself into work, any work, just to forget.

As if by fate, he arrived at the library. With its wide hearth and leather armchairs, it was the perfect place. Christine would never know the secret that it hid. Striding to the grand cabinet that resided in the shadowy corner, he pressed his finger into the secret gap that would set the mechanism to open, revealing a secret compartment. As the front opened, his secret stash of alcohol and opiates were revealed. Taking the crystal glass firmly in hand, he poured himself a brandy, the amber liquid sloshing the clear sides as the light dances through the crystal, shimmering in the half light, alluring like a siren to a lost sailor. Quickly downing the contents, the liquid burning his parched throat, he took the bottle from the corner of the alcove and his hypodermic syringe from its silken rap. With his long, skeletal fingers, he thrust the needle into the bottle, pulling the shaft of the syringe until it filled with the reddish-brown substance. Returning the bottle to its place, he glided impatiently to an armchair, his profile cast into shadows by the flickering flames that roared with the grate as with shaking fingers he rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For a while, his eyes rested thoughtfully upon his slender, sinewy forearm, the crook of his elbow dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. His eyes trained upon his flesh, he slammed the needle into his willing flesh, pushing down on the syringe as it emptied its contents into his bloodstream. His eyes fluttering, he sank back into the hard leather of the armchair with a deep groan of satisfaction.

Christine could never know of this. She would find out his shame. He was betraying her now, as she lay within his bed, not knowing that a floor below her, he sought him pleasure at the hands of a hypodermic syringe. As the effects of the drug kicked in, he knew nothing but pleasure and the disappearance of his troubles. He was addicted to the power it gave him, the control it gave him over his thoughts. He did not know how he would live without it. It would kill him, eventually, but at that moment, as his muscles relaxed and he sprawled languidly within his chair, he cared not one jot.

xXx

(_Christine_)

She must have slept, for when she awoke, the candle had been blown out and there was a chill within the room. Turning over in bed, her hand sought Erik's for reassurance in the darkness. Nothing. Scrambling up, she scanned the darkness. Even with the lack of light, she should have been able to see his outline at least. Nothing.

"Erik, where are you?" She called, pulling the covers closer to her chest as goosebumps rose on her bare exposed flesh. "Erik! Erik!" She called with all of her might, desperate, afraid and alone. All sorts of scenarios flashed through her mind. He could have collapsed and lay dying alone, or had left the house and had been attacked and killed. These thoughts would drive her to madness. In the darkness, she omitted the idea of finding a dress gown, so standing upon shaky, weak legs, she retrieved the covers from the bed and wrapped them around her slim frame, clutching them about her chest as she stumbled towards the door.

"Erik? Erik, where are you? Answer me, my love." She called, her head spinning. She hadn't stood in four days. Her knees shook beneath her as she walked, causing her to stumble and trip, tears spilling from her eyes. Why would he not answer her?

Gripping the handrail tightly, she slowly descended the stairs, lifting the blankets so that she didn't fall. Going first into the dining room, she peeked her head around the door, and seeing the he wasn't within, exited and continued on to the next room. This continue for a while until eventually, exhausted and sick, she slowly turned the handle to the library, stepping inside with a racing heart and tear streaked cheeks.

In a moment, she almost wished that she was tucked in bed, safe beneath the covers from reality, for before the fire was Erik, sprawled within his armchair, his arm hanging over the arm of the chair, within which was firmly grasped was an empty, sparkling syringe.

"No, Erik no." She screamed, abandoning her covers and running to his side and taking his wrist within her hand. She pressed her fingers to his wrist, feeling his pulse fluttering weakly beneath the skin.

"Christine." He drawled, his mouth working uselessly as he pronounced her name.

"What have you done?" She asked, her tears falling against his exposed arm as she clutched her hand to her face.

"Why, I've taken a little...something." He slurred, his eyes roving to her face, his pupils blown.

"Oh Erik. Why? Why?" She whispered, her head falling against his woollen trouser encased thigh and she buried her nose in the rough material, inhaling the rich, heady scent of her beloved in his drugged oblivion.


	29. Chapter 29

"Oh Erik. Why? Why?" She whispered, her head falling against his woollen trouser encased thigh and she buried her nose in the rough material, inhaling the rich, heady scent of her beloved in his drugged oblivion.

He could not answer her. In his drugged oblivion, he could not comprehend logical thought, his mouth working uselessly like a fish out of water. After several minutes of tears, she wiped her face against his trousers and rose on shaky legs, not knowing what to do.

'I must do something. I can't just sit here crying. He needs my help, desperately." She said, crouching beside the chair and grasping his hand in hers. Pressing it to her cheek, her fingers closed around his weakly fluttering pulse, her eyes fell to his exposed forearm. She couldn't believe her eyes. The marks upon his skin. The scars of his past, his secret shame. All those years mapped out upon his flesh.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She whispered incredulously, her fingers running over the dips and indentations of his tightly-stretched skin. How many years had he been inflicting this pain upon himself? These marks were not recent. Some had nearly healed, whilst others were the pearly ivory of scar tissue. What had he so desperately tried to forget?

'I shall fetch him a drink and a blanket and spend the rest of the afternoon and night here until he recovers." She said, pressing a slim hand to her forehead as a spasm of pain passed through her forehead. She shouldn't be exerting herself like this. She had been ill, and was still recovering. It wasn't fair of Erik to do this, it was selfish of him. In that moment, she didn't think that she'd ever disliked him as much as she did in that moment.

'I shouldn't think that, I can't. I love him too much. He needs my support, not my anger and dislike.' She said, bending over his sprawled form and pressing a kiss to the rough skin of his forehead.

"I shall be back in a moment Erik." She said, her eyes lingering upon his face, but as she turned to leave, a hand snatched at the skirt of her dress.

"Christine." He slurred, struggling to rise to his feet, leaning heavily upon the arm of the chair, staggering under his own weight.

"Yes Erik. But sit back down, I shall fetch you a drink and a small bite to eat. You must rest. I know that you are currently...indisposed. Stay here for me, my love." She said, gently removing his hand from her skirt and guiding him back into the chair. She placed her hand upon his shoulder, pushing gently, but instead of complying, his arm locked around her neck, his other arm rising to grip her tightly around the neck.

"Christine, Christine, I want you to know how much I need you. How much I love you. You are my whole world. I would be nothing without you. You are so special to me." He started to laugh, deep and throaty as it resonated deep within his chest, a smile splitting his face into a grin like a cat that had got the cream. As his laughter continued, Christine's face fell repeatedly. This was not her Erik. He laughed, certainly, but normally he was far more reserved. Whatever he had taken had completely altered his personality.

"I know this Erik, I know. You don't need to tell me that you love me. I see it in your eyes and in your voice." She said softly, attempting again to return him to his seat, but failing as he exerted his full strength, his arms tight and constricting around her.

"No Christine, you must listen. I want you to know it. You must know it. I feel like a moth, like a small, insignificant little moth fluttering in the breeze. And you are my light. I am drawn to you, heart and soul. You enchant me." He drawled, his face close to hers and the sweet cloying scent of alcohol upon his breath nearly overwhelming her. She struggled meekly against him, turning her face away from his so that she could breath fresh, sweet air.

"Erik, please, you're scaring me. I know that you love me. Let me fetch you a drink. I shall sit by you while you recover from your temporary malady. I will be here." She said forcefully.

"Christine." He stuttered, and his hands fisting tightly within her curls, his lips locked awkwardly with hers, as his hands clasped her head possessively. She loved him, she did, but she did not relish his touch. At this moment, she would rather be alone in the comfort of her bed than here in his drugged embrace, at the mercy of his whims.

"You are my everything Christine. My everything." He panted against her lips, his arms locking like an iron-vice around her ribcage. His mouth opening under hers, his tongue probed for entrance to the sweet cavern of her mouth. She resisted, her lips shut tightly under his, but he was unrelenting. She could do nothing but submit to him.

"Please stop Erik, I don't like this." She protested, her hands pressed against his chest as she tried to push him away from her, her lips unmoving as she attempting to turn her face away.

His lips breaking from hers, he cupped her chin firmly within his hand and turned her face to look at him. Their eyes met, hers wide and hurt and his unfocused and bleary. The scarlet and gold of the flames that danced and raged within the hearth cast deep, dark shadows upon his form and face, making his features appear more horrific than ever.

"Christine, this is what I want. I want you. I need you." He drawled, and suddenly seizing her slim, fragile wrists within his larger skeletal hands, he pulled her to him, his lips connecting with hers. She tried to fight him. She pushed against him chest within all of her might, trying to get him off of her. She couldn't do this, didn't want to do this. It was not how it was meant to be. It was meant to be romantic, an expression of their love for one another. Not a display of one's power over the other.

'It was only several hours ago that he tried to kiss me and left me for this reason. He fled because he thought that he was abusing his power over me, and that's what he's doing now.' She thought to herself as her lips were forced to respond to his provocation.

But as suddenly as it started, it ended. His lips breaking from hers, he burst into a fit of tears, collapsing back into the armchair, his legs curled up to his chest like a foetus. His arms locked around his knees, he rocked back and forward, muttering incomprehensible syllables as the tears poured from his eyes, running rivulets over the dips in his uneven cheeks.

"What has Erik done? What has Erik done? How could Erik do that to his Christine? He loves her, he does, with all of his heart and soul. She means the world to him, and he destroys everything by abusing her trust." He cried, his head falling against the high back of the chair as he wept bitter tears that wracked his slim frame.

"Erik, I...I must go. I cannot stay here with you. I shall lock my door tonight. I do not wish your company." She said, goosebumps rising upon her exposed skin as she cast pitiful, soulful eyes upon his pathetic form. She hurried from the room, her eyes blinded by tears as she fled, arriving in the safety of her room. The familiar scent of rose and lavender met her senses as she fumbled with the knob of her door, shutting it quickly behind her and turning the key within the lock.

"I need a bath to relax my frayed nerves. I cannot cope with this." She said to herself, shaking her head to clear the thoughts of Erik sprawled within his chair, his eyes wide and unfocused as he slurred incomprehensibly.

Walking slowly to her dressing table, she sat down upon the velvet stool, her eyes trained upon her reflection. Her pale, drawn features were in stark contrast the redness of her cheeks and eyes that were puffy with crying. Her curls were loose and knotted about her shoulders, and seizing her gilt hairbrush, she set about ridding the mass of its tangles, wincing as she tugged at her scalp. With deft fingers, she plaited her hair and secured it with a pretty pink ribbon, her fingers fiddling with the loose ends.

'Stop it. He chose to do that to himself. You tried to help him and he rejected your efforts. It is not your problem.' The sinful voice taunted within her head, her hands falling back to her lap to stop herself from fiddling.

'But he is. He is your husband. It is your duty as his wife to protect and care for him in his hour of need.' The rational part of her brain replied, and her cheeks flooded with shame. She should have tried harder to protect him. It was all her fault. If she had been a better wife, then he would never have taken whatever dreadful substance he had injected into his porcelain skin.

"Help me." She whispered to the air, her mind spinning. She pleaded with God for the strength and patience to face the demons that were destroying her Erik. She walked into the bathroom, opening the taps and watching transfixed as the hot, steaming water filled the marble tub, her mind temporarily occupied with something other than her beloved.

'I should go to him. He could die if I am not there. He might choke on his own vomit, or have a hear attack, anything. I must go to him.' She thought, her hand straying to the tap to turn it off.

'Don't. Think of just a moment ago. How close he was to hurting you. If you hadn't protested, he could have done anything. Think of his raw, masculine strength. Under the influence of such a drug, he could do anything.' Her hand resting stationary upon the tap as the water continued to gush forth, the thought resonated deep within her brain. 'It would be safer if I stayed here. He has done it many times before, and each time I have not been there to mollycoddle him.' She thought, trying desperately to justify her conflicting thoughts.

With a sudden sweep of her arm, she pulled the night robe over her head and stepped into the water, letting the heat envelope her weary body. Trailing her hand languidly within the swirling water, not one thought of Erik was within in mind. This was her 'me' time. Erik used drugs to forget. She took a bath.

She lay within the tub, staring blindly at the trickles of condensation upon the wall until the water became chilly, and lowly rising, she wrapped a thick, fluffy towel around he middle, the ends of her plait dripping.m

'I shall snuggle up with a good book and try to sleep. I am weary and need rest.' She thought to herself, slipping her night gown over her damp body and towelling the ends of her hair. Humming to herself, she skipped from the bathroom ad went to bed, retrieving the first leather bound volume at hand.

'I will not think of Erik, I will not think of him. He caused himself and you this pain. He does not deserve your sympathy. You must be strong Christine.' She said to herself, pulling back the covers and climbing into bed. How good it felt to be back in her own bed, between her soft cotton sheets. Fumbling in the beside table draw, she struck a match and lit the candle, the flare of light illuminating the darkening room.

Settling back against the pillows, tucking the curls that had fallen from her plait behind her ear, she snuggled beneath the covers and opened the volume, letting her mind be filled with nothing but the story that was unfolding before upon the page.

For hours she lay there, absorbed within the story, her hands numb from blood loss as she held the book aloft before her. Stifling a yawn, the book fell from her hand, its thud muffled by the plush carpet. Curling up beneath the covers, her eyes fluttered shut and she waited for dreams to overtake her.

It was at that moment that a noise awoke her. Eyes snapping open, she listen as the sound came again. It was the rattling of her door knob, and she knew who by, for there was no one else in the house. It was Erik. She would ignore it and fall asleep.

"Christine, Christine, please, open the door. Let me explain. I am perfectly fine now. Please, I must talk to you. Christine." He called, twisting the knob energetically and banging upon the door. She lay there, not daring to breathe. She couldn't open the door, she wouldn't. She would wait until morning and let him explain then.

"Alright Christine, if you will not open the door, then I will spend all night outside your door. All I want is for you to listen to me. Please." He called through the door, and she was torn. What should she do? She she go to him, let him explain his actions, be the wife he so needed. Or should she leave him to wallow, to suffer as he had caused to suffer when she had found him sprawled within that armchair. What was she to do?

**So...what should she do? He may seem a little out of character, but these are the true effects of drug abuse- uncontrollable laughter, violence, desperation, rambling etc. I hope that you enjoyed it, as it took a lot of time and effort. I long debated posting this, but I hope that I succeeded! :)**


	30. Chapter 30

**Thank you so much for the wonderful, supportive reviews. It really means a lot to know that there ate people out there enjoying my work and it gives me motivation to continue. So thank you! :)**

(_Christine_)

She slowly opened the door to him. Though she fought internally a battle that raged between her head and her heart, she opened the wooden barrier that separated the two forces that by destiny had been brought together as one. Her hands tightly gripping the wooden door frame for support for her weak knees, the comforter that she had clutched tightly about her frame dropped to the floor with a thud that echoed the pounding beat of her heart.

"Christine, I...thank you." He said weakly, tears choking his smooth, melodic tone as he rose from his kneeling position on the floor, unfurling like a long limbed spider. She could not meet his pleading, desperate eyes, nodding stoically. It took all of her effort and strength to not listen to her head or heart; the former telling her to slam the door, lock it tight and sleep with a pillow pressed to her ear to block the pleas and cries of the pathetic man who lay outside her door. The latter, however, told her to run to her beloved, fling her arms around his neck and kiss his face, telling him that everything will her alright. Instead, she stood stone still, waiting for him to make the first move and close the void between them.

"May I please come in?" He asked, taking a step towards her. She nodded, picking the comforter off the floor, and wrapping it tight around her body, glided back to her bed. Settling upon the mattress, she waited for Erik to enter, his long legs slowly covering the distance and sitting down heavily upon the small armchair beside her bed, his long limbs hanging over the edge.

"Christine, I must explain myself and my actions. It was unfair and selfish of me. You were ill, are ill, and I made you confront something like this. I should have talked to you instead of seeking the needle. I apologise from the depths of my heart." He said, his eyes like pools of molten gold as they brimmed with tears, and leaning forward, he grasped her cold, slim hand within his own, squeezing it lovingly. Gently removing her hand, she settling back further onto the bed, and with dejected, hurt eyes, he leaned back in the armchair, his hands settling uselessly in his lap.

"Speak to me, please Christine. Scream, shout, tell me that you hate me. Please. I would rather that you let me know how you feel rather than remaining silent. Please, Christine, it is killing me." He pleaded, the tears pouring freely down his sunken cheeks, and with flaming cheeks, she sat up straighter upon the bed.

"Killing you? Killing you! I tell you what, Erik, that you have been killing me. Finding you sprawled in that armchair, under the influence of God knows what substance, incomprehensible drawling a stream of words at me. I thought that you would die, Erik. And then what would I do? A single woman alone in the world. How could I manage without you. Did you think about that when you injected yourself? Did you?" As she ranted passionately, she had inadvertently moved closer towards Erik, waving her hands as she spoke, so that she sat perched on the edge of the bed, the tips of her toes a few inches from Erik's.

"You do not know how sorry I am. I didn't know what else to do. I have relied upon the bliss of opium for too long. I promise you though that it will never happen again. Ever. You must believe me, my love. My love for you is far stronger and greater than my craving for that substance. Please, forgive me." He begged, extending his hand in the gap between them, waiting for her to grasp his hand with her own.

What was she to do? She loved him, she did, with all of her heart. He was her everything. Her life, her sunshine, her very being. But he had betrayed her. He had turned to drugs when he should have turned to her. She was his wife. It was her duty to be there for him, to face his problems as if they were her own. But she was angry, so angry that it was difficult to look him in the eye.

'Christine. Christine. My little princess.' A sweet, musical voice as soft as silk within her ear that she had not heard for many years that she recognised instantly. Her beloved mother.

"Mother." She whispered, her eyes rising to the heavens in search of the source of the voice.

'Yes, my little Chrissie. You've grown in to such a wonderful young woman, I'm so proud. But you must forgive your husband.' The voice of her mother said, soft within her ear.

"Christine. Christine. Is everything alright? Christine." Erik called, panicking as her eyes turned glass and she began to talk to herself.

"But mother, he did something terrible. I don't know if I can forgive him." She said, lowering her eyes to her lap as her cheeks flooded red.

'You must, my love. He loves you so very much, and I can see that you love him. You must forgive him, and be the wife that he so needs. It is your duty. You were born for this, my princess. Never forget that I love you very much.' Her mother said, her voice fading, as Christine desperately called for her, her eyes scanning the canopy above her head as if her mother were clinging to the upholstery there.

"Good bye mother. I love you too." She whispered, her her rocking gently as Erik shook her shoulders, calling her name desperately.

"Christine, Christine, my god, Christine. Answer me. Please. Say that you can hear me." He cried, the tears streaming from his eyes as her eyes rolled within their sockets, her cheeks pale.

"Erik?" She choked, her eyes roving within her skull and slowly settling upon his.

"Oh Christine, oh my love. What happened? You were hallucinating,calling "mother" repeatedly and mumbling. My love, are you alright?" He asked, watching the colour return to her cheeks as a pure smile of joy split her lips.

"I was talking to my mother. She told me that you are a good man and that I should forgive you." She whispered, and he grasped her small hands firmly, pulling her to him.

"Thank you. I will be a better man for you Christine, I swear it." He pledged, his hands pressing her tight to his chest, and she smiled weakly into the fine cotton covering his bony shoulder.  
She would forgive him, did forgive him really, but why had he done this to her in the first place. Was she truly his everything if he would treat her this way? He loved her, she knew that, but were his feeling true?

'Listen to your heart, it will do you no harm.' She told herself, slowly placing her arms around his thin chest and hugging him back, feeling that the familiar sense of security of being within his arms.

"Erik, I am tired. I must go to bed. You may join me, if you wish." She said slowly, prying herself slowly from his arms to stand shyly before him.

"If I may. I will...not touch you in any way but to hold you close. You need not fear that I will do anything unseemly, I promise you." He said earnestly, bending to untie his shoes as Christine climbed into bed, curling up beneath the covers. Kneeling slowly upon the bed, he settled slowly behind her above the covers, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he buried his hideous face in the sweet mass of her curls.

"Good night my love. Sleep well." He whispered, pressing a kiss to her ear and settling his long, bony body around her soft, supple form. As she lay spooned in his arms, she realised that this was the first clink in the chain of their marriage. It was her duty to support her husband, to remain by his side and face any problems together. She promised before God to love him, to have and hold him until death, and she would abide by this. There would be many more in the future, she was sure, for that was but one of the negatives of marriage; two people with different options and views, but it was something that she would do, for her love for Erik was unconditional and forever.

xXx

(Raoul)

"Brother, do you not think that that little brunette thing would look great on my arm or in my bed? The way she moves makes me think she'd have a thing or two to teach me, don't you think? And what about that little blonde thing. A great mistress for you. Any girl would be willing to give her arm to be your little plaything. See the way that she moves, the way that ballet gown clings to her curves. After the performance, tell her you want her. It's the best way with women. Be forceful. They love to be dominated." Phillipe whispered loudly behind his silk gloved hand, the smell of heady, expensive brandy upon his breath.

"Shut up Phillipe. Why can't you just enjoy a performance for what it is, a wonderful display of art, instead of seeing the female performers as sex objects." Raoul said, annoyed, his eyes trained upon the blonde ballerina, Meg Giry, as she pirouetted across the stage.

"Oh, I see. Well, perhaps the male ballerina is more to your taste? I can tell you that he is rather good between the sheets. A little arrogant, but knows how to give and take, if you know what I mean." He said, rather too enthusiastically, nudging his younger brother sharply in the ribs, causing Raoul to huff in annoyance and anger, his cheeks flooding red.

"How dare you Phillipe. How could you suggest that? You know that I don't play that way. I don't anyone, man or woman. I want Christine, and just her." He said, emphasising 'or', but seeing much to his dismay that it had passed way over his brother's head.

"Neither do I , little brother, but there's no harm in experimenting." He said, with a wink, and growling quietly, Raoul returned his absolute attention to the stage, letting the sweet music wash over him and quell his senses.

As the last act came to a close, and the performers returned to the stage for the final applause, Raoul rose to his feet and ran from the De Chagny box, leaving Phillipe sat bewildered, as he made his way to the dressing rooms. He must speak to Madame Giry, see if she'd heard from that deformed monster. Slipping quickly down the front stairs, he weaved through the crowds and clusters of people, his hands clenching and un clenching at his side.

"Madame Giry, Madame Giry, I must speak to you. It is urgent." He called, banging upon the door to her private room and avoiding the wanton gazes of the dancers as they eyed his finely tailored form.

"One moment, please Monsieur." She called from within, and within a moment, the door slowly opened and out slipped a young ballerina, her satin slippers padding against the rough wooden floor. Raoul was transfixed.

"Christine, Christine, is that you?" He called, abandoning his quest for Madame Giry and following the girl as she slipped away through the dark corridors. "Please, wait."

"My name is not Christine, and I do not know you Monsieur." The girl said, turning her large chocolate eyes to Raoul's sky blue ones as her long, dark curls swayed gently.

"You must be. You do know me. My name is Raoul, you remember, don't you? Our childhood together, just you and I. Say that you remember." He pleaded, grasping the girl's cool hand that lay weakly by her side.

"Get away from me Monsieur. I do not know you." She cried, and breaking free from his, ran off through the corridor, leaving Raoul standing alone watching the empty space silently.


	31. Chapter 31

(_Christine_)

Weeks passed. The long, joyful days of spring gave way to the heat of summer until it reached its height mid-August and the world basked under the baking heat of the sun. As the time passed, she slowly came to forgive him. She saw what he had seen. Through the desperate, frantic eyes of her beloved, she saw the pain and the grief. The need to express himself but fighting self-imposed restrictions. With forgiveness came love once more, and they revelled in the touch and sensation of one another.

In the haze of a summer morning, she lay within the thin cotton sheets, a fine sheen of perspiration glazing her porcelain skin. Erik's naturally cool skin did little to chill her, for as she lay within his arms, her bare skin pressed against his, she could feel her reflected heat upon his skin.

"Erik, I am so hot. Why does it have to be so hot?" She said, sitting up in bed, her eyes straying to the wide opening window. How she wished that a breeze blew to cool her flaming skin, but nothing. The curtains fluttered not one bit.

Suddenly, she felt really sick. Had she sat up too quickly? Was it just a head rush? Flinging back the covers, she ran into the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time. Without a word, Erik came up behind her and wrapped her dressing gown around her shoulders to cover her nakedness, rubbing her back soothingly and pulling her wild curls back from her face. She heaved, her stomach turning as her throat burned and her head pounded.

"Shh, my love. You're alright. You're safe. I'm here." He said soothingly, continuing to rub her back like a baby as wiped her mouth and curled up within his lap, pushing the silken material of his dressing gown aside so that she could feel his bare skin, the tears streaming from her eyes.

"I don't feel so good Erik." She whispered, her head buried within his neck. The smell of her beloved comforted her and she continued to sob helplessly.

"Don't cry my love. I'll take you back to bed. Shhh, my sweet angel. Let me clean you up." He said, and placing her gently on the rim of the tub, fetched a flannel from the linen closet and dabbed her lips and cheeks, cleaning her face of the faint trails of her saliva.

"I don't understand Erik. I didn't eat anything you haven't. You're such a good cook, you'd never undercook anything. I don't understand. It wasn't until I sat up that I didn't feel so good." She said quietly as he cleaned her up, weakly pulling the silk gown closer around her body and tying the belt tightly.

"Perhaps after all it was the chicken. I didn't eat as much of it as you did. But fear not, my love. I shall return you to bed and fetch you a cool refreshing glass of water and something that will settle your stomach and make you feel better." He said consolingly, sweeping her carefully into his arms and returning her gently between the sheets.

"I shan't be long." He whispered, breezing a kiss to her forehead and stroking the loose curls that clung to her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered at the touch of his cool palm against her flaming forehead, and with a long agonised glance at her form, he departed the room, his feet bare in his haste. Christine had to stifle her giggles. Erik was always so...particular about his manner of dress. And yet here he was wearing nothing but a thin silken dressing robe. It had been a while since she had actually seen his bare feet and not just felt them entangled with her own.

With a soft sigh, she curled up on her side, her eyes trained upon the fine slither of brilliant blue sky that was visible thought the wide window. As she lay there, her hands suddenly flew to her stomach. It felt as if something had brushed against her left side, like the gentle touch of a butterfly's wing or bursting popcorn. Her eyes widened in alarm as it continued for several moments, and she sat up in alarm, her hands pressed tight to her stomach. Was it just gas? It certainly didn't feel like it, too gentle, but what else could it possibly be?

As she sat there, her hand continued to stroke the flat planes of her stomach. How long had it been since she had had her monthly? She tried to think, her mind quickly scanning her most recent memories. With a gasp of shock, it dawned on her. She had missed two consecutive months course. But that would mean that... Counting on her fingers, her lips moving as she calculated, her eyes widened as she realised that that meant only one thing. That three months ago, on her wedding night, when all of her hopes and fears had been forgotten in a haze of pleasure, a tiny new life was made inside of her.

But surely that wasn't possible. Erik had said so himself. She knew that he had a...problem down there are that there was little chance of them ever having children. He had even had to take something in order to consummate their marriage, and every time afterwards. That stinking, disgusting potion that made him able to perform. How could she be with child?

'But he didn't know for certain. How could he have know. It's possible, it must be possible.' The thought, starting deep within, spilled from her lips as they broke into a wide smile. She had dreamt of this day for all of her life, and now it was finally happening. She would be a mother. She pressed her fingers to her lips, stuffing them into her mouth to stop herself from laughing aloud in glee.

Flopping back against the pile of pillows, her curls spilling wildly, her lids fluttered closed in happiness. It all made sense, now that she thought about it. Her sickness this morning and the faint nausea that she had been feeling for awhile but that she had put down to general sickness, the heaviness and dull ache in her breasts, the frequent need for the toilet. It was all her body telling her that she was carrying a precious, new life within her.

Unexpected tears rose to her eyes, and she let them roll over her plump cheeks as she laughed helplessly in joy.

"Is everything alright my angel? You are crying. And yet you are laughing. What ever is the matter?" Erik asked, stepping up to her side carrying a tray of food and drink. As he sat down next to her upon the bed, the tray balanced precariously upon his lap, she raised herself on one elbow, wiping the tears from her eyes. At that moment, she smelt it, and before she knew it, she was on her feet, running into the bathroom to heave the contents of her empty stomach into the toilet once again. It was the egg. As she lay there, the pungent smell had overwhelmed her. Never before had it had that effect; usually she loved the smell, coupled with unique scent of crisp toast. Shakily pushing her wild curls behind her ear, her hand strayed to her flat stomach. Just another sign of being with child.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she gratefully accepted Erik's proffered hand, snatching up the flannel to dab at her mouth and wincing at the burn of her throat and the acidic taste in her mouth.

"Are you sure you are alright, my love. Come back to bed, I have something here that will make you feel better and a refreshing glass of water to take away that horrible taste." He said, guiding her back to bed and stroking her back soothingly.

"I am much better, thank you Erik." She said, climbing back into bed and settling back beneath the thin cover, she readily accepted the glass of chill water, gulping it quickly to quench her parched throat.

"Don't drink it too quickly, my love. I don't want you to be sick again." He said gently, placing his hands upon hers and taking the glass slowly from between her hands. "I want you to drink this. Admittedly it doesn't taste very nice, but it will help." He said with a smile, and brushing a kiss to her cheek, pressed the glass of amber liquid into her waiting hands.

"Erik, before I drink this, may I just ask. What is in it?" She asked slowly, thinking of the child growing within her. She wouldn't do, or take, anything that could her their child. Items better to be safe than sorry.

"Only peppermint, sweet mint, ginger, cinnamon and a selection of dried herbs. You needn't worry, my love." He said with a smile, cupping her chin affectionately, his brown raising slightly at her question.

Sipping slowly, cautiously, she pulled a face as she tasted it. It was disgusting. It was so bitter and sharp. And Erik wasn't helping. Narrowing her eyes at him, she saw his lips split into a huge grin at her expression, the smile transforming his deformity. If Erik had made her this brew to help her nausea, then it would surely help her pregnancy sickness? Slowly taking another sip, she slowly it quickly so that she wouldn't have to savour the taste. Erik sat silent, watching her drink the concoction until the the last drop had passed Christine's lips.

"See, it wasn't so bad, was it my angel." He said, pressing a kiss to her sweet, sticky lips. "Perhaps it would be better if I were to eat this myself and get you a piece of dry toast. It is good for sickness, to line your stomach." He said, rising to his feet as if to leave, but was stopped when Christine grasped his hand.

"Erik, please sit back down a moment." She said, watching as he returned to her side, sitting down carefully upon the mattress, his eyes wide and his brow creased in confusion.

"Whatever is it Christine?" He asked, cupping their hands with his other and squeezing gently.

"Erik, I have something to tell you. I didn't believe it at first, I still don't really.." She said, trailing off, her eyes lowered to her hands, and Erik's fingers touched her cheek softly, raising her wide chocolate orbs to his deep, golden pools.

"What, Christine?" He breathed, his cool breath and open, trusting face settling her nerves. Why was she so nervous? It was not as if she had done anything wrong. This was a happy moment, not something to dread.

"Erik, I...I am with child." She said quietly, her eyes scanning his face, gauging his reaction. Nothing. He said not a word, but his already pale skin blanched and then suddenly flooded with colour, the only movement his steady blinking.

"Say something Erik, please." She pleaded, her fingers straying to his sunken cheeks and cupping his face within her hands.

"Christine, I..Christine, I don't..." He stuttered, his hands waving uselessly as he tried to find the words to express his feelings, but failed, his lower lips trembling, and sliding his hands around her shoulders, buried his face within her neck as he wept helplessly like a child.

"Shush, my love. Shush. It's alright." She cooed, rocking his gently as she held him close, her own tears spilling from her eyes and mingling with his.

"Christine, how...how is it possible? I...I didn't think that we could have children." He said, raising his tear-stained face to hers, and she stroked his sparse hair away from his high forehead, mirroring the action that he so often made towards her.

"I didn't either, my love. I don't know. But aren't you pleased? I am so happy, Erik. I don't think I have ever been so happy. To have a new life, that we have created together, growing inside of me. I love this child so much, and yet it only dawned on me this morning that I am with child. How could I not have known before? But it doesn't matter, for I, we know now." She said, babbling, the words pouring from between her lips before she could stop herself, and she blushed in embarrassment.

"I am happy, my angel. Please, do not get me wrong. You know that I am happy. I am just...surprised. I never thought that anything like this could happen. You have to realise, my love, that I have been on this planet for half a century and until I met you not yet a year ago, I had never felt the pleasure of human contact, let alone ever having the thought of being a father and creating a new life." He said, raising himself to his knees and meeting her eyes and holding her gaze, he placed his hands upon the flat planes of her stomach, his eyes scanning her shape of her stomach beneath the fine material of her dressing robe.

"Little one, my new little angel, I want you to know that I love you very, very much and I cannot wait until the day when I can hold you within my arms and feel your tiny little fingers around mine." He said, bending and pressing a kiss to the material covering her stomach that contain such a precious gift.

"Oh Christine, Christine. How I love you." He said, rising on his knees and pressing his lips to hers, his arms holding her close as they tangled in her loose curls.

"Christine, I must let the world know how happy I am. I have two letter to write. I want you to wait here and rest whilst I write them, and when I return, I will show you how very much I love you." He said, his voice dropping seductively as his eyes glinted mischievously, his honey voice dripping seductively into her ear.

"Don't be long." She called, as he fled from the room in his haste to return. With a smile upon her lips, she lay back agains the fluffy feather pillows, her hand resting gently upon her stomach, protecting the little life within.

xXx

(_Erik_)

'_Madame Giry,_

_I must apologise for not writing sooner. But you needn't fret, my wife and I are happily settled and I write to tell you the joyous news that we are expecting our first child. _

_I hope that you are in good health,  
Regards, _

_Erik.'_

He wrote, signing his name with a flourish, a blowing gently upon the page to dry the fresh, dark ink, he folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, his hand scrawling across the front as he filled out her postal details, writing their return address in the corner.

'I'll send it later. Right now, there are more important matters to deal with.' He thought to himself, and with a grin upon his twisted lips, he glided from the room, the ink of their address glinting in the candlelight.


	32. Chapter 32

**Just to clear up any queries, the other letter that Erik wrote was for Nadir Khan, his adopted father from Persia, simply just telling him that Christine's pregnant. But that doesn't feature so much as the one he sends to Madame Giry...anyway, enjoy! :)**

_Two weeks later..._

(_Raoul_)

"Monsieur le Vicompte. Monsieur." The voice, quiet as it crept thought the thick oak of his door, awoke Raoul from his slumber, and grumbling to himself, he elbowed his bed companion awake.

"Wake up, you lazy slut." He growled, grinding his elbow into the soft flesh of her arm as he struggled to sit up, bushing his long blonde hair away from his face. Running his hand down his face and licking his lips slowly like a dog, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to the door, fumbling for his gown that lay tossed upon the dresser.

"What is it Georges?" He slurred,leaning heavily upon door frame as he struggled with the silken belt of his gown. It slipped from between his fingers and he swore loudly, his but let's eyes flashing momentarily at the obscenity.

"I am sorry to have disturb you, Monsieur, but I have a note here from one Madame Giry. The boy who delivered it said that it was urgent." He said, proffering the sealed piece of parchment that lay upon his silver note platter that was clasped firmly within hand.

"Thank you Georges." He stuttered, shutting the door firmly in his face. Staggering to his sideboard, cluttered with glasses and decanters of swirling amber liquid. His hand trembling, he seized one and poured himself a glass, his glared at the figure that lay sprawled within his bed, a pout upon his spoilt lips.

"Are you awake yet? I pay for your service, not for you to sleep like a lazy whore. You will leave now, your payment is upon the dresser." He said coolly, his voice like a dagger, and he watched with amusement that quickly turned to anger as she rolled over in bed, burying her head beneath a pillow.

With a roar of frustration, he strode to her side of the bed and grasping her tumbled thick chocolate curls within both hands, he pulled her from the bed as she cried out in pain, the hair torn from scalp.

"You're hurting me. Get off." She protested as he pushed her up against the wall,his hands locked tight around the column of her neck. To see the fear in the depths of those chocolate orbs. He fed off of the power that he had over her, to see her struggle futilely.

He sneered at her. She was Christine, at least, she had chocolate orbs and dark brown ringlets like Christine, but she lacked her doll like porcelain fragile beauty, her eye lined by fine wrinkles that betrayed the years of suffer and toil that she had suffered just to survive. The cheap makeup that she had been wearing last night when Raoul had bought her services was smeared across her face, the vivid red of her lipstick smudged like the smile of a clown that had haunted Raoul's dreams since he had seen it at the circus all those years ago.

"You will leave now and never come back. I do not want to see you again. So help me god if I so much as glimpse your face." He growled, squeezing her neck and watching in amusement as her hands tugged weakly at his hands. Loosening his grip, he watched as she slumped to the floor, gasping for breath.

On shaky knees, she gathered her clothes that lay littered upon the floor and collecting her money from the dresser, ran to the door, turning back to glare at Raoul.

"Do not fear Monsieur, I would never sleep with you again, not even if you were to pay me a million francs." She spat, slamming the door behind her, and he stood silent, listening to the hasty pad of her feet as she flew downstairs, waiting for the telltale bang as the front door closed behind her.

'At last, the letter.' He said to himself, and walking slowly to his sideboard, he poured himself another glass of brandy and sank into his deep leather armchair, sliding his finger under the wax seal to access the long sought for contents within.

"Monsieur le Vicompte,

I have good news regarding your fiancé. It is easier to speak face to face, so come to the opera with all haste and I will tell you all that I know.

Yours,  
Antoinette Giry."

"At last." He said to himself, quickly downing the contents of the tumbler and rising to his feet, he hastily pulled on his from the previous day, running his fingers through his hair to smooth his wild locks. "She will be mine. I will prise her from the long, cold fingers of that monster. It won't be long now, my love." An unspoken promise to the love of his life, he strode to his bathroom, splashing cold water upon his face to wash away the last remnants of his drunken haze. When he found his beloved, he would clean himself up; no more drinking or women. His love would be all that he needed.

"Georges, make sure the carriage is made ready. I find myself in need of going out." He called to his manservant, and dashing back into his room, he slashed cologne upon his neck, seizing his thin summer coat from his vast wardrobe, his fingers shaking with speed.

He glided down through the house, his fingers fumbling with his silken cravat as he walked, and with a call to his mother, he left the house, leaning heavily on the marble doorframe outside until his carriage appeared, rounding to the front of the house, the midnight black horses panting in the heat as Paris sweltered under the blazing summer sun.

He clambered inside the dark silken lined carriage, and banging on the roof of the carriage, called out to his driver. "To the Opera Populaire."

"Madame Giry, I received your letter. What do you know?" He said,taking the beckoned seat as she down opposite him, her hands clasped over her dancing cane.

"I received a letter this morning from your fiancée's husband, he...  
"Her husband? She married that monster? She clearly had no choice, she was always such a good Christian girl. I dread to think the liberties that he has been taking with her." He shuddered at the thought of his beloved forced into bed with that freak. Well she would have no reason to worry when her husband lay dead.

"Yes, her husband. He writes to say that they are expecting their first child, and.."

"Their first child? Their child! She's with child?! How could this be? I shudder to think at the way that he treated her. Poor Christine. Well, when I rescue her, no expense will be spared to rid her of her problem. She shall have the best treatment that money can buy. I can only imagine the suffering and pain that she must be experiencing, having to carry that monster's baby. It won't be long now. It will all be over soon." He interrupted, pacing up and down the room in fury, his hands alternating between clenched at his sides and waving expressively.

"You will do no such thing Monsieur. A child is sacred, whoever it's parents are. If you continue to think in that manner, Vicompte, I will not tell you their address." She said, with a smile as she noted his reaction.

"You have their address? You must tell me Madame, I beg you." He said, stopping mid pace and turning to face her, his cold eyes glittering.

"It will cost you." She said,her eyes sparkling at the thought of the money that she could export from the fool.

"Name your price. Just tell me." He was desperate. He was already deep in depth, but his name meant a lot and he would find the money so that his family need never know.

"La Pommeraie, Orry la Ville..."

xXx

(_Christine_)

"And what would my love like to do today?" Erik asked, rolling over onto his side and smiling down at his Christine as she lay upon her back, sprawled like a starfish, the sheets pooled at her ankles in an attempt to keep cool.

"At the moment, I feel like doing nothing but lie here. It is so hot." She said, fanning herself weakly with her hand, the other resting instinctively upon her stomach.

"Come now Christine. I know that you are with child, but that does not give you an excuse to be lazy." He said with a grin, bending to press a kiss to her petulant, pouting lips as she 'humph' ed indignantly.

"I am not lazy Erik. I am tired and it is hot. I do not have the energy to do anything." She said, and he laughed, his hand cupping her flushed cheek.

"Well, if you were to find the energy to dress, then we could pass the afternoon out of doors. I could make us a picnic lunch and we could go and sit by the river, perhaps go for a swim?" He asked, watching as her face lit up with delight.

"Oh Erik, that sounds wonderful." She breathed, a smile lighting up her face, and Erik chuckled.

"Well, I shall leave you now then my queen. Dress leisurely and I shall see you downstairs." And pressing a sweet kiss to her soft lips, he slipped out of bed and into his adjoining room to dress for the day.

Sighing, she rose slowly, supporting herself on the post of her bed as she padded into her marble bathroom. Making her toilette, she splashed cool water onto her face to wash away the remnants of sleep and returned to her room, gathering her underclothes and a clean pastel pink cotton gown from her wardrobe.

"What am I to wear to swim in?" She pondered as she brushed out the tangles from her curls, securing then in a tight knot at the back of her head. Pulling a few loose, she absentmindedly twirled them around her finger as she gazed listlessly at her reflection within the mirror.

'Perhaps just my petticoat. After all, it's only you and Erik.' She thought to herself with a smile, a faint blush tinging her cheeks.

Dressing slowly, she kept the ties of her corset quite loose partly due to the heat, but also in fear of the little life inside of her. Tying the laces of her light leather boots, she spritzed heady floral perfume behind her ears, and pinching her cheeks, made her way downstairs to Erik.

"Are you ready my beloved?" She called, stepping up behind Erik as he worked and wrapped her arms tight around his waist, pressing her cheek to his hard back.

"Just about, my love." He said, sealing the bundle of sandwiches and placing them inside the little hamper that already held the other picnic items. Seizing the hamper in one hand, and Christine's little hand in the other, they left the kitchen.

"Would here be alright, my love?" He asked, stopping beneath the great weeping willow that sat proud beside the slowing meandering river.

"Perfect." She whispered, watching as Erik shook out the blanket and laid it upon the ground, sinking upon his knees and smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Would you care for a drink?" He asked, in the process of removing the lunch items from the hamper.

"I would rather swim first." She said,and he placed the items back inside, rising to his feet.

"I'm afraid there is little privacy. You could perhaps go behind the tree and change and I will see you in the water." He said, but stopped when he saw the look upon her angelic face.

"Do not fret,my love. It does not bother me to undress in front of you." She said, a faint blush rising to her cheeks, and turning her back to him, she proffered to him to undo the laces of her gown. He willing complied, and once they were undone, she stepped from the garment, her fingers fumbling with the loose lacings of her corset as Erik undressed himself. Within a few moments, she was down to her billowing petticoat, balancing upon one leg as she pulled off her stocking.

"Ready?" She said, and rising from his kneeling position as he folded his clothes, he nodded, grasping her hand.

"I am ready." They walked to the water's edge, Christine pulling Erik slightly in her haste to submerge herself within the cool, crystal waters. " I shall enter first to ensure that it is same. I do not know how deep the water is." He said, and sitting down upon the bank, slipped into the water up to his waist.

"You should be alright my love. I am here to hold you." He said, and opened his arms to help her into the water. It was delicious. As her body slipped beneath the surface, her feet tentatively found the uneven river bed. The water came up to her armpits, and she held on tight to Erik's hand.

"It has been a long time since I have been swimming." She said, her knees shaking slightly as the water swirled past them.

"Well then, I shall teach you." He said with a smile, and bending, he swept her into his arms. "I shall lay you on your back and first teach you to float. You have nothing to fear." He said, his eyes molten pools of gold meeting her wide, terrified chocolate orbs.

"I'm scared Erik." She said quietly, as he slowly, gently lay her fully upon her back, his arms beneath her shoulder blades and thighs. Her hands clutched at his upper arms and chest, flexing and un-flexing in her panic.

"Shh my love. It's all alright." He held her still, whispered words of encouragement as she lay there, her eyes scanning his face, until, slowly, her hands fell from his chest and lay limply on her lap.

"Alright, my love. I'm now going to remove one of my hands, but it will be just below you should you need it." He said, his honey voice soothing, and inhaling sharply, he slowly removed one of his hands, the grip of the other loosening.

"Christine, my love, you're doing it. You're floating by yourself." He is, his eyes glowing as a laugh of delight broke from between his twisted lips.

"I'm doing it. Oh Erik, I'm so happy." She said, her hands instinctively twirling in the swirling water. His arms gathered her close to his chest, and she pressed her lips to his, her wet hands twisting within his sparse hair as the river continued to flow and dance around them.


	33. Chapter 33

**So...I'm finally an adult. It was 18th birthday Tuesday, and since then its been a bit hectic, I've hardly had any time to myself. As a result, this chapter is likely to be less good than previous, and I apologise! :)**

(_Raoul_)

"I thank you Madame Giry. Good day to you." He said, and bowing swiftly, strode from the room, leaving her to stand forlornly, pulling her tattered shawl tighter around her slim dancers body.

"What have I done? I have betrayed Erik for a handful of sous. I am a monster." She cried, sinking into a chair in a fit of sobs, her vision blurred by tears.

He strode though the Opera, meeting the glances of the huddles of ballerinas as they warmed up for rehearsal or stood giggling and gossiping at the interruption of the handsome stranger. Pushing his way through the revolving doors, he signalled for an idle stable hand to ready his carriage and alert his driver.

As the boy ran off, with the promise of a shiny gold sous if he was quick, Raoul pulled his monogrammed, solid gold cigarette case from his inner pocket, and extracting a cigarette and striking a match against the lid, lit the end and drew deeply, watching the strands of smoke spiral upwards towards the bright blue summer sky, the same sky that covered Christine's angelic head.

xXx

(_Christine_)

'Can life get any better than this?' She thought to herself as she lay upon her back within the crystal, chill waters of the stream, her hands paddling by her sides to keep her upright as she studied the clouds in bright blue sky for shapes. There was a dog, with big ears and a lolling tongue, and there was a heart, above their heads.

As if reading her thought, Erik waded to her and gathered her into his arms, sinking beneath the water so that she was perched upon his lap, their shoulders beneath the surface. "At this moment, life could not be more perfect. Here I am, on a hot summers day, for the first time in my life outside in the heat of summer, without a mask, my perfect, angelic wife by my side and our child growing inside her. I am blessed, I must be. No man should be happy as I." He said with a smile that lit up his face as if a candle burnt inside him.

"We both are." She said, her hands straying to the flat planes of her stomach, a smile upon her lips at the thought of the child within. Was it a boy or a girl? Whatever sex their child was, she knew that she could it no more than she did now.

"Would it matter to you if we had a girl?" Christine asked, her head falling against his strong, wiry shoulder as she gazed softly into his eyes.

"It would matter not one bit. I would love a daughter, someone who would look like you with your corkscrew curls and angelic beauty who would be the apple of her father's eye. But then I would like a son, to have the childhood that I never did. To run and play in the fields as soldiers,or to learn my secrets of alchemy. Whatever their sex, they would be our child and I would love them." He said, and Christine silently exhaled, the words that she had longed to hear upon Erik's lips taking the weight and stress from her shoulders. She had known, from the first moment that she had discovered that she was with child, that nothing, aside from her beloved, could better in life. And for Erik to feel the same, well, it was just another of the many reasons why she loved him so deeply.

His face darkened momentarily, and seizing her small hand within his, he pressed it to the flesh over his heart. "Since the moment I first heard your, forgive me, I mean our news, I have thought long and hard. Christine, there is a strong possibility that our child may have the same affliction as I. I have many hours whilst you slept peacefully researching, or least trying to, my condition. I do not know if it can be passed on...I fear for our unborn child. How could they cope with a face like mine? And how could I live knowing that I had inflicting it upon them?" He broke off, his eyes darkening with pain and sorrow, and Christine's hot hand slid up his strong neck and cupped his cheek.

"It might not happen, my love, and if it does.." She whispered soothingly to console not only him, but also her own fears, but was broken off by Erik.

"You are right, of course you are. We cannot know until our child is born. But should they be cursed with my deformity, I would support them and love them no less than I love you."

At his words, her heart broke, and she stifled a sob. "My love.." She whispered, and raising herself from his lap, she pressed her lips to his, her arms rising from the water to wrap around his neck. She kissed him as if she were dying and he were the oxygen her body craved. He came undone in her arms, his body trembling under her ministrations, her hands fisting in his sparse, loose hair, cupping his skull and pulling him closer to her, seeking him, needing him. Their laboured breathing resonated within her ears and her nose caressed the gaping hole where a nose should have been.

"I want you." She breathed against his twisted lips, one hand sliding down the length of his back, feeling the knots of his vertebrae through his skin.

"I can't Christine, I am sorry." He said, disentangling her arms from around his slim frame and breaking the contact of their lips. At the sight of the pout upon her lips, his finger ran tentatively along her full, bruised lower lip. "You know that I would. God Christine, I want you so badly. To have you here, practically naked in my lap, the sparse covering of your petticoat soaking wet and clinging seductively to your every curve...it is hard to breathe through the desire that is pulsing within my veins. But I can't." He explained, and she remembered his problem. At this moment, he was undoubtedly feeling worse than she was, hating himself for the way that he was.

"It's alright. It must be my hormones. It is enough just to kiss you." She said, and closing the gap between them, pressed her lips to his sweetly. At that moment, her stomach began to rumble, and a smile lit up Erik's fallen face.

"Come, my love. I think it's time that we eat. It seems that my angel is hungry, and now that she is eating for two, we cannot have that." Taking her hand, they waded to the bank, clambering out into the heat of the day and the water streamed from their clothing, pooling at their ankles. They must have been quite a sight, standing in soaked clothing that stuck to them, their hair wet and wild, her curls having fallen from their tight binding. She couldn't help but smile at the thought of somebody coming across them and seeing them like this. What a pair they made.

xXx

(_Raoul_)

He sat back in his carriage, his hands clenched tightly upon his knees as he watched the countryside roll pass his window. He had stopped about nine miles ago to ask for direction to the house, masquerading as a brother seeking the new home of his sister. He had been told that the house was about ten miles from the town, therefore meaning that it would not be long before they arrived. He had no clue what he would do when he did arrive, or how he would gain admittance to their house. All he knew was that he would save his Christine and kill the monster who called himself her husband.

It was not long until they pulled up to the wide gates of a pretty little house, although of course Raoul could do nothing but sneer at its size in comparison to his own. He doubt that that thing would ever be able to furnish Christine with the treasures that he could or treat her to the same experiences or way of life. She would be better off without him.

"Henri, I want you to wait here. I may take a while, but I am sure you can find to occupy yourself with. When I return, I will have a young woman with me, and you are to do exactly as I instruct. Do you understand?" He stepped from his carriage, his hand padding his jacket for his revolver. On impulse, he leaned into the carriage and seized his cane. If the gunshots didn't kill him, he could always beat him with his cane.

"Perfectly, Monsieur." He replied meekly, rolling his eyes when as Raoul walked up to the heavy iron gates. Pushing down with all his might upon the handle, it gave way and he walked in quickly, slipping his way up to the front door with as much as much haste as possible, for the wide windows at the front of the house gave a perfect view of him, and he feared that someone was inside, watching his movements.

Toying with the idea of what to do next, he reached for the heavy bell-pull, and pulled, hearing a deep bell ring from within the house. He waited, and then tried again, once more hearing the sound of the bell. And nothing else. No one was at home. He swore under his breath,and after a moment, decided to take a walk around the outside of the house, arrogant with the idea that no one was there to see him.

He walked around to the back of the house, his eyes scanning the walls, until his eyes settled joint the upper story. For there was an open window, just wide enough for him to squeeze through, beckoning to him. But how was he to get up there? Scanning for footholds, he noticed the drain pipe that ran parallel to the edge of the window. Perfect. Even better was the fact that beside that was heavy trellis upon which climbed a curling vine of some kind. Just what he needed. Grasping the trellis with one hand and the pipe with the other, he shimmied and climbed, his hands digging into the dents and grooves within the vine and the brickwork, the plant scratching at his exposed skin until eventually he reached the top, clinging parallel to the window ledge.

Grasping the trellis with all of his strength, he stretched his leg out until his foot touched the ledge, and transferring his weight to that leg, he moved slowly from the drainpipe onto the window ledge, heaving a sigh of relief at the solid stone beneath his feet. But he daren't look down. With a wave of nausea as vertigo hit him, he squeezed through the gap, landing on his feet in a bedroom. A man's bedroom it seemed, from the decor.

Stepping silently though the room,his eyes scanning his surroundings, he left and walked down thought he house until he arrived in the entrance hall. It was not what he had expected. More sumptuous than he could ever have imagined, he even marvelled at the chandelier that hung proud and resplendent from the ceiling.

'Im hungry, I think I shall fetch myself something to eat.' The thought to himself, and began in search of the kitchen.

xXx

(_Christine_)

"I just feel so tired. It must be because of our little one." She said with a weak smile, her free hand pressed to her stomach, and Erik chuckled.

"When we get it, if you go and lay down, I will make you something refreshing to drink and then we can spend the afternoon in each other's arms." He said, fumbling in his pocket from the key to the door, and finding it, he inserted it into the lock and the door swung open. Christine steppe inside, and immediately goosebumps rose upon her exposed flesh.

"Erik." She whispered. "Something's wrong." The rug fell from her arms and she felt Erik tense at her side, placing the hamper down.

"Hello Christine."


	34. Chapter 34

**Thank you for all of the wonderful, encouraging reviews. I'm sorry about the cliff-hanger last chapter, hopefully this one makes up for it! :)**

(_Madame Giry_)

'Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper Virgini, omnibus Sanctis, et vobis, fratres (et tibi pater),quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo et opere: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem, omnes Sanctos, et vos, fratres (et te, pater), orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum. Amen.' Madame Giry whispered, her lips moving rapidly as she clutched her porcelain rosary between her clasped hands, her eyes closed as she kneeled before the crucifix that stood proud, the sole adornment of the small chapel within the Opera Populiare.

"Forgive me father. I have betrayed the man who relied upon me so heavily. I pray that you will forgive me." Her words echoed around the cavern of the small blessed room, and she raised her pleading eyes to the simple cross.

"Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen." The porcelain beads slipped from between her fingertips as the tears spilled from beneath her closed lips.

xXx

(_Christine_)

"Hello Christine." He slurred, swaying slightly on his feet as he stood, propped against the curve of the staircase banister.

"R..Ra..Raoul. What are you doing here?" She asked, but was interrupted by Erik.

"It's you. I thought I was clear last time. You were never to come near myself or Christine ever again. I told you that. But perhaps I didn't make myself clear enough." He roared, his voice dropping at the last sentence to deadly whisper as he broke from the grasp of Christine's hand and stepped forward menacingly.

"She's mine. She has always been mine. From that first moment, upon that windswept beach, you _belonged _to me." The raised the bottle of aged brandy to his lips, the amber liquid spilling from the corner of his lips as he swallowed like a fish. "I must say, you do have a fine taste in spirits. Perhaps I shall take them home with me later, along with _my _Christine." Wiping the beads of alcohol from his mouth that clung to the stubble of his beard, took a step forward towards them, staggering heavily.

"Never." Erik roared, and before Christine could stop him, Erik had pounced upon him, his hands locked around his throat in a deadly grip, and he slammed him into the wall, his thumb angling Raoul's jaw so that eyes locked; Raoul's sky blue, watery bloodshot eyes met Erik's molten golden sharp pools.

"This will be the last time that I ever warn you. Next time you should not be so lucky." He spat, a smirk upon his lips as he watched Raoul struggle limply against his grip. "If it were not for my beautiful wife standing across the hall way, I would do far worse to your pretty little face." He growled low into Raoul's ear, his twisted lips curling nastily.

"Christine, _my _Christine, you cannot want to spend your life chained to this _monster." _He snarled mockingly, and Erik tightened his grip on Raoul's throat until his eyes bulged and his skin became a mottled deathly blue.

"Erik, please. Don't strangle him. I won't lose you to him. If you squeeze any tighter, he will die and so will you, when the police catch you." She said pleadingly, watching as with a snarl Erik loosened his grip, the white of his knuckles returning to normal, his hand remaining threatening around his neck, waiting, testing.

"You have no reason to be here Monsieur. It is because of you that we had to leave before. You will not terrorize us again. Am I clear?" He asked, and when Raoul refused to answer, Erik shook him until his eyes rolled within his skull.

"Perfectly Monsieur." He spat, and a globule of saliva flew from between his lips and landed with a spat against the jagged indentation of Erik's cheek, dripping slowly over the bumps and dents of his skin and Christine gasped in disgust and horror, her hand twitching at her side, begging to slap and scratch at that smooth skin until it bled.

"I could snap your neck with a twitch of my hand. Do not forget my power, Monsieur. I am a trained killer. And I would. How I long to." His voice like a blade, deep and deadly, cut through the sound of Raoul's laboured breathing, and he chuckled.

"Are you trying to scare me? I have spent months trying to find my love. I have spent thousands of francs, desperate for information as to your whereabouts. I am nearly bankrupt, my life is a mess. I had everything, **everything.** Beauty, wealth, my choice of women... But I want no one, nothing, but _my _Christine. I **will not** leave here without her. You will not stop me." He slurred, his tongue thick and heavy within his mouth. He needed another drink. The bottle of sweet amber nectar was within his grasp. If only he get it to his lips.

Deciding that she must intervene, or Erik would do something that he would regret, she stepped over the picnic items and walked slowly up to Erik's side, laying her hand gently upon his arm where it remained tightly clenched, his muscled locked, and he slowly turned his face to hers, his lips curled back in a snarl, and her cool, loving gaze met his.

"My love, I will speak to him. He will listen to me, I promise you. He will be gone soon, and we get back to normal. I relish the idea of the drink you promised me." She said with a smile, her hand cupping his rough cheek, and slowly, so slowly that she feared he would change his mind, he lowered his arms from around Raoul's neck, and stepped back behind Christine, his arm creeping around her waist, showing him that she was his, that she had chosen to be his, and that she always would be.

"Raoul. Please, do not do this. I love Erik. He is my husband. I have chosen to be with him, I have pledged to spend the rest of my life with him before God because I love with every fibre of my being." She said quietly, her sweet voice thick with emotion as she tried to retain the tears that threatened to fall at the apparition of her childhood friend and sweetheart before her.

"You cannot love him Christine. You love me, I know you do." He protested, and she pressed a slim finger to his lips lightly to silence him, the diamond of her wedding ring sparkling in the natural glow of daylight, highlighting her eternal attachment to another man.

"What happened to the little boy who ran into the sea to fetch my red silk scarf, who would share dark stories of the north and goblins and elves?" She searched his watery eyes for the last remnants of the boy she once knew, for this man before her was nothing like him.

"He grew up. He became a man who vowed to keep the promise he had made to you as a child to be your protector, to keep you safe from all of the horrors of the world. I would be failing you if I let you stay here with _this _horror. He has admitted himself that he is a killer. He could hurt you Christine, he could _kill_ you. You saw the way he had his hands around my neck. Your neck is slim, it would break easier. I cannot leave you here." A wild, crazed look entered his eyes, and she stepped back from him, raising her hands instinctively to protect herself.

"Raoul, I do not love you. I love Erik. I want to be with him." She whispered, terrified by the gleam of his eyes, and he shook his head rapidly.

"You do, you do. You do love me. You _will _love me too." Raising his arm, he brought it down against her cheek, sending her to the floor, and he kicked he sent his boot into his stomach before Erik could restrain him. She curled in on herself, tears streaming from her eyes, and her hand pressed to her stomach, caressing their child that grew within.

"You _bastard. _You will get out of my house now and never come back or I swear it upon my unborn child's life that you will die." He roared, hauling Raoul to his feet and slamming him into the wall, his jaw connecting with the plaster.

"You will rue the day that you spurned my love, Christine. I only wished that I had kicked harder, ridding you of that...Devil's spawn that is sucking the life from you." He spat, and staggered to the door, followed closely by Erik.

Christine rose slowly to her feet, and with slow, faltering steps, she walked to Erik's side, grasping his hand firmly within her own for support, her knees shaking beneath her. She could not believe that this was the same man who had done so much for her and would now hurt her and punish her for loving another.

Turning upon his heel, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers, his foul breath reeking of stale alcohol and smoke, and her lips moved unwittingly against his. She pressed her hands to his chest, and pushed him from her, wiping her mouth and the taste of his from her lips.

"You will get out now." Erik roared, and flinging the door wide, he grasped Raoul by the collar of his coat and pushed him outside, shutting the door behind him with a bang. As the door closed, Christine collapsed within his arms, her face pressed to the skin above his beating heart, and she breathed deep, revelling in the scent of her true love. His arms wrapped tight around her, his hand cupping the back of her head, cupping her skull within his hands and his hands twisted within her loose curls.

"You are the one that I love Erik. For ever and for always." She said, and rising to her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his, her hands creeping up the length of his spine to hold him close to her. She came undone under his ministrations, her senses overwhelmed. She loved him so much, so much that it hurt her. The feel of his swollen, twisted lips against hers made her knees shake, and pulled him close to hold herself up. Their breathing harsh and ragged, she knew that this was where she wanted to be forever. She could love no one more than she loved her Erik. The fear, the drug abuse, it all meant nothing when she knew that he loved her.

"I love you so much, I love, I love, I love." She whispered into his ear, knowing that no matter what problems they faced together, they would always be strong, because their love could endure anything.

xXx

(_Raoul_)

He stumbled back to his carriage through the garden, stumbling over his feet and roots and plants, not knowing where he was going, or caring. He knew that he had been defeated, that she would never be his.

The gates appeared, and he leant heavily against them, his fingers grasping the trailing iron framework for support.

"Monsieur le Vicompte, let me help you into the carriage." His driver, Henri, walked up to the other side of the gate, and opening it, he stepped through and threw a supporting arm around his shoulders, guiding him back to the carriage.

"There you are Monsieur. I shall take you directly home, and ask the cook to make you something to eat. You look like you could do with a proper breakfast." He said, and with a nod, closed the door behind Raoul and climbed up onto the front of the carriage. Shaking the reins, the horses shook their heads and the carriage rolled off.

Through the window of his carriage, he watched the house, _their _house until it disappeared out of view. That would be the last time that he would ever see her. His hand straying to his inner pocket, he drew out his revolver, turning it over slowly within his hands, admiring the indentations upon the barrel and the smoothly worn trigger. How easy it would be to end it all. To place the barrel to his temple, to pull, and then nothing. Bliss. He had lost the love of his life, what else did he have to live for?

He had never feared death. Too many people he had cared for had died before their time. Opening his plump, smooth lips, he placed the barrel inside until it reached the back of his throat, choking him. It was now or never. He had lost. He was defeated. That _freak _had won the ultimate prize, and he was the loser. His finger strayed to the trigger, and with thoughts of Christine, he pulled, a smile upon his lips.

**Thank you so much for reading. I know, when I wrote this chapter, I couldn't quite believe what was happening either. My hands seemed to write without my brain being fully engaged. Anyway, here is a translation of the two Latin prayers that Madame Giry speaks.**

**I confess to almighty God, to blessed Mary ever Virgin, to all the saints, and to you my brothers (and to thee, father) that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. Therefore, I beseech blessed Mary ever Virgin, blessed Michael the archangel, blessed John the Baptist, the holy apostles Peter and Paul, and all the saints, to pray for me to the Lord our God. Amen.**

**Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.**


	35. Chapter 35

**Thank you so much for all of the wonderful reviews, I never meant to make anybody upset or cry, so I apologise! :)**

(_Christine_)

The next morning...

"My love, I think that you should see this."

She had taken a bite of buttered taste, and swallowing quickly, she pressed her napkin to her lips, and rising from her chair, she walked up to Erik's side, smoothing the fine lacy material of light summer gown. It was just another normal newspaper article, or at least she thought so initially.

"Vicompte takes life in mysterious circumstances."

Beneath the bold headline was a photo of Raoul from before his decline in alcoholism, his blonde hair swept casually from his forehead as he gazed into the distance. Her breath caught in her throat and her knees shook beneath her weight. She pressed one trembling hands to her lips, the other gripped the arm of Erik's chair until her knuckles turned white.

"Perhaps you should sit down my love." Erik said, and rising from his seat, guided her shoulders so that she sank down into the plush material of the dining chair. She rested her head against the steeple of her fingers as her mind raced. It had only been yesterday that she had seen him, alive and relatively well. What had caused him to commit the ultimate sin, to take his own life? Was it her?

"Wh...wh..what does it say? The article?" She asked, her voice thick and quivering. It was not that she loved him, for he had changed so dramatically from the boy that she once knew, but they had been so close during her childhood, all those moments together when they had thought of nothing but stories of Little Lotte and the Angel of Music... But 10 years was a long time, long enough for the heart to heal, for it to beat again in time with another.

"Perhaps it would be best if I did not. I do not want to upset you, it could hurt our child." He said smoothly, taking Christine's cold hand within his own, and she smiled weakly.

"No Erik, I must hear. He was my friend. We were so close when we were children. I must hear, I must know what happened to him. Please." She said pleadingly, and with his eyes rapidly scanning her face, he nodded slowly.

"If you find it too much, you must tell me to stop." He said, and she nodded, biting her lip to prevent it from trembling. "The leading icon and prominent patron of the Opera Populaire, Raoul Vicompte de Chagny, was found dead, having apparently taken his own life. His body was found yesterday afternoon within his carriage, a pocket pistol within his hand. It is still unclear as to what caused Monsieur le Vicompte to take his life, but it emerged that he was suffered from depression and alcoholism..."

"I..I..please.." She stuttered, and Erik looked at her over the top of the paper, his eyes molten pools in sympathy scanning her face, reassuring.

"Christine, this was not a good idea." He said, a throwing the paper down on the table, he crouched down so that their faces were level. Taking both of her hands within one of his own, he cupped his cheek with the other, his little finger stroking the satin plumpness of her cheek.

"I miss the boy that I once knew." She whispered, tears steadily dripping from her eyes and splashing onto Erik's long fingers, and he cooed soothingly, gathering her in his arms and rubbing her back soothingly.

"You must not dwell on it, my love. He is gone, that boy from long ago. It is best to cherish the memories that you hold and move on." He whispered, tucking her thick curls behind her ears. He had to admit, in the very depths of his heart, that he was glad that Raoul was gone. He knew really that Christine loved him, but there would always be that part of him that imagined her leaving him at the first opportunity, and he would have been the most likely candidate, seeing as they had spent their early lives together. Now that he was out of the way, he had nothing to worry about.

"Erik, I..I think that I shall go and lay down. I'm so tired, and I don't want hurt our child." She said, distancing herself from Erik's arms, and leaning upon the arm of the chair, she rose to her feet, one hand pressed to her stomach. Brushing her fingers across Erik's sunken cheek, she walked slowly towards the door.

"Christine, wait. Please." He called, rising to his feet, and striding across the room he grasped her slim hand within his own. "Christine, please don't just walk away from this. Let us talk it through. You are upset, it is obvious, but don't just leave me here. I can help you, I can share your pain." His voice smooth, the rich tone of his voice like honey in her ear, he turned her to face him with a gentle touch upon her shoulder.

"There's nothing you can do for me. It is not fair to lumber this on you, Erik. It is my problem and mine alone." She pulled her hand from his, and turning upon her heel, walked out of the door, letting it fall shut behind her.

He wandered back to the table, sinking into dining chair, and slowly poured himself a cup of hot, steaming coffee, watching transfixed as the steam curled upwards toward the ceiling, towards his love. He needed to clear his mind. It ate away at him to know that his beloved was upstairs, mourning for a man that had been so big a part of her life. Did she regret choosing him after all? Did she wish, even now, that she had left with Raoul, that she were far away from this house, from him? His head sinking into his hands, he rubbed his brow. How he longed for the mind numbing oblivion of opium, the sweet bliss that it brought to the turbulence of his thoughts. But he would never do that again, he had promised Christine. He had promised her. He needed something to take his mind off of his uselessness, his craving.

Downing the hot, rich contents of his cup, he rose quickly to his feet and strode through the house and out thought the French doors into the garden, wandering through the gardens until he came to a secluded corner encircled by thick pine trees. Within, like a hidden gem, was a small wooden hut, with a window either side of the little door. Pushing down on the latch, he stepped into the shadows of the room and removed his coat, slinging it over the back of a stray chair.

Rolling up his shirtsleeves over the wiry muscle of his arm, he set to work. Drawing a scrap of paper from the sideboard and a pencil, he set about sketching the perfect design. It would have to be just right. The engravings upon the sides, the support for the little curtains that would shut out the light, it would have to be just the right size to fit their precious little bundle inside. Stepping back from the paper, he surveyed his work. His calculations were wrong. The left and right side would be too long for the others, they wouldn't fit smoothly. And the joints were wrong. Making notes in the corner as he calculated, he hastily scribbled out the mistakes and corrected them. Perfect.

Taking a plank of wood that stood propped, ready,against the side of the hut, he walked carefully with it to the workbench, securing it properly upon the table with a clamp. Withdrawing a tape measure and pencil from his workbox stuffed with tools, he stretched the tape measure from one end and marked the require length, drawing a line which he followed with a hand saw, turning his face into his arm as chips of wood flew up into his eyes. He worked continuously until all the planks were the correct size, and the edges smooth.

At the top of the pile of tools within his box, glinting in the shaft of sunlight that fell through the window, was a chisel. For about a week, he had been planning on working upon every item of the nursery; the crib, the little wardrobe,the rocking chair. They were to be a surprise for Christine,but the rest of the room was to be decided upon together from the colour of walls to the floor covering. But it had been a challenge to get away from her to come to his workshop, to work upon her surprise. The hours that he spent slaving away with tools would be worth it to see the look upon her face. Stepping around the planks, he seized the tool, and shooting a glance at his plans, placed the chisel against the plank of wood and set to work carving.

**I'm sorry that this chapter is so short, but I've been really busy recently and it's been difficult to find time to write. It will be better next chapter, I promise! :)**


	36. Chapter 36

_One week later..._

(_Erik_)

A week passed in melancholy. For a whole week, she shut herself away from Erik, her door locked tight to bar his entrance. And it grieved him. To be so cut off and abandoned by his wife. He knew that she was grieving, that she was reflecting upon those moments of joy from her childhood when Raoul was her knight in shining armour and sole companion. But it pained him too. Each day, at mealtimes, he would sit at the dining table, a place laid for himself and for his beloved, and watch silently as the steaming hot food slowly cooled and congealed, hoping and praying for the sound of her soft gentle footsteps upon the stair. But not once did it happen in that torturous week, and so, obediently, he would take it to her door, he would knock upon the wood, call to her, plead with her. And then leave the tray as he quietly walked away.

The nights were the same. Each and every night, he would ready for bed, his strands of hair brushed just so, his skin fresh and arms waiting to encircle his beloved, hoping against hope that this would be the night when she would welcome him back into her loving embrace. And so he would pad to her door, he would knock, his breathing heavy against the thick, glossy wooden panes of the door, and with trained ears would listen for the stirring of his beloved, to hear her raise herself from her weeping upon her bed and fling wide the door that separated the two halves of a whole. Some nights, he dropped into the abyss of sleep, to wake the next morning sprawled outside her door, his hand numb and tingling from where he had sought a little comfort to rest his head upon the hard floor.

It pained him. She was mourning a life from long before she had met him, and yet each day the dagger that hovered over his heart was thrust deeper by her absence. It should be him comforting her, wrapping her in his loving arms and rocking away the tears, whispering sweet nothings into her ear to make the pain go away. But instead he tortured himself with the idea that she was alone, isolated by her grief, head buried within her pillows that dampened with the torrent of tears.

He had not thought about the child. It could not be good for their unborn child to be put under so much stress. He had read many scholarly articles on the affects of stress upon a baby, and each had said that it was fundamental for the mother to remain calm as stress could cause miscarriage, and he was certain that should that happen, she would never talk to him again. What's more, each tray of delicacies that he brought to her door, he returned with to kitchen several hours later, barely touched by Christine's fork, just a little bit of each sampled by her fair hand. He would need to act soon in order to ensure that both mother and child remained healthy, and more importantly, alive.

"Christine? Christine, my beloved, I really must talk to you. Please may I come in? Christine?" He knocked several times upon the door, loud enough for her to hear, but not too loud as for her to think that he was angry. Inhaling sharply, he ran his fingers through his sparse strands, pressing his shaking fingers to the wooden doorframe to steady them.

"Christine, please. You really must come out Christine. It is not good for you, or the baby, if you shut yourself away in your grief and do not eat or drink. Christine, can you hear me?" By now, he was growing frustrated. It was the same routine every day. She must be able to hear. And she was ignoring him. He, who was so much older and was still afraid to reach out for help and to rely on others after so long, was trying to reach out to her.

He had told her. It was not that he was giving up, but what was the point in standing there, the only sound his own voice and panting breath as he ranted at deaf wood. She had heard him, and if she chose to listen, that all the better. But if not, then by tomorrow morning he would force his way into that room and make her listen.

With determination, he stalked through the house and out through the garden to his area of retreat; his workshop. Inside the little room was the last remaining item of their unborn child's furniture; their little wardrobe. With a smile, he thought of Christine, how they would go shopping for little frocks and night dresses and little shoes. And there it sat, the near finished article, awaiting a coat of glossy varnish. Slipping off his coat, he rolled up his sleeves and seized the paintbrush that sat waiting upon the workbench, prizing open the lid on the can of varnish, and set to work, watching the excess trickle down the surface to plop onto the worktop. The brush licked at the wood, coating every bare patch until the little wardrobe had a fine coating of light golden brown. It would need another. It would another one, and as each coat took an hour to dry, he decided to venture inside and make his love a sweet treat to tempt her out of her shell like a tortoise.

An hour later, the smell of freshly baked cake wafted through the house to the rafters, making Erik's mouth water in delight. Drawing it out of the oven, he placed it carefully upon the wooden kitchen table, making sure not to drop it, and left it to cool whilst he prepared the filling of sweet dairy cream and fresh, juicy strawberries; Christine's favourite.

Gathering the ingredients from the larder, he whisked and washed and sliced as the cake cooled, and taking a knife, it sliced it cleanly in half and smothered a thick dollop of cream onto the bottom half, covering with a layer of strawberry halves, and then pressed the top half on, making a sandwich of deliciousness. With cream left in the bowl, he spread the top of the cake with the remainder and a pattern of strawberry halves, his mouth watering at the sight before him. He knew that his angel wouldn't be able to resist.

With the best, thickest slice carefully upon a plate, he clasped the tray carefully within his hands and ascended the stairs, walking quickly but carefully to the door of his love. He did not need to speak, he knew that. Instead, he knocked three times, placed the tray at the door, and walked away, knowing that it wouldn't be long before the door opened.

He couldn't resist the tempting call of the cake, and submitting to his desire, he quickly devoured the wedge of cake, leaving the remainder upon the table should Christine wish for more. He walked quickly back to his safe haven, returning to his work and smothering the wardrobe the same way he had the cake until his little creation was evenly covered and perfect.

The remained of the afternoon he passed in the library, absorbed in a novel by the great Victor Hugo, "Notre- Dame de Paris" about a deformed man who lived in the bell tower of Notre Dame in his beloved Paris. He couldn't help but smile at the irony. How similar to the life he himself had once led.

As the candle burnt down to the wick, he shut the cover and returned the novel to its place upon the shelf. He had made dinner, roast chicken with winter vegetables; again, Christine's favourite, but tonight he had consumed his meal whilst it was still hot, resigning himself to the idea that she would not be joining him. After he had finished, he took Christine's portion upstairs, noting with a smile of satisfaction that the plate that had held the slice of cake had been wiped cleaned. He had made a small step towards success. He switched the used plate for the laden tray, and returned back downstairs for a glass of port, his frayed nerves craving the relief that alcohol bought.

Trudging slowly upstairs, he passed Christine's door, barely noticing the tray of hardly-touched food, and entered his room, shutting the door slowly behind him. His brain disconnected from his actions, he readied for bed, slipping down to his undergarments, and slipping on his silken pyjamas, climbed between the cool sheets, clutching them tight around his form. How he wished that Christine were here with him. It just was not the same without her. It was as if he were missing his very heart.

He found little rest that night. He tossed and turned in his light slumber, unable to settle without Christine beside him. He heard a sound. A creak upon the floorboard within his room. His senses snapped to alert and his ears strained to better hear. The gentle pad of soft footsteps upon the plush carpet. He could sense the figure stop beside the bed, pausing, before climbing in behind him, wrapping their slim arms tight around his chest. Christine. His love was really here, her soft, slim arms around him, holding him close.

"Christine." He breathed, turning to face her in the darkness. His eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light, scanning her pretty, angelic face, the way that her curls fell and framed her heart-shaped face. He stretched his hand out, reaching for her, and she grasped his hand and cupped it to her cheek.

"Erik." She said, her voice breaking on the last syllable, and he saw her eyes gleaming in the inky darkness. She was near to tears, and with a soothing coo, he enveloped her within his arms, cupping her head to his shoulder.

"My love, you should have let me in. I can share you pain. Please, just talk to me." He said, peppering kisses to her curls, and he felt her shake her head.

"I can't...I just can't Erik. Please, just hold me close." She stuttered, and with a sigh, he pulled her slim form closer to his, their bodies locked like puzzle pieces and he whispered sweet, soothing words into her ear as her breathing slowed and she fell into the realm of slumber. With his love safe within his arms once more, his eyes drifted shut and he joined his beloved.

"Close your eyes, my angel. I have a surprise for you." He said, leaning over the back of her chair, and pressed a kiss to her smiling plump cheek. She shot him a quizzical look, but her lashes fluttered shut obligingly, and retrieving one of his silken cravats from his pocket, he tied it around Christine's eyes.

He had succeeded. He had managed to tempt his love to eat a proper meal of full, cooked breakfast and several cups of tea. She sat across from him at the kitchen table, her hand clasped with his upon his knee, a smile upon her sweet lips. How he loved to have her back to herself once more. She had not said a word about her week of grief, but he knew that she had needed the time to rid herself of the painful memories in order to start a fresh future without Raoul.

He led her by the hand, through the house to the nursery. With a smile upon his lips, her hand grasped tight within his, he slowly opened the door and led her inside.

"Erik?" She asked questioningly, not knowing where she was. She was certain that Erik had led her astray just to confuse her and keep her unaware.

"Alright then Christine. Open your eyes." He whispered in her ear, and untying the cravat, her lids fluttered open and she gasped in surprise and delight. It was the nursery, or at least, it was the room that they had decided would be their little one's nursery. Inside were the pieces of furniture that Erik's hand had crafted; the little wardrobe to hold their babies' items, the rocking chair where they would sit to rock them to sleep, and the little crib where their child would pass many a night in sweet slumber. With tears in her eyes, she turned to her husband.

"Erik, oh Erik. Thank you. It's...it's gorgeous. They're gorgeous. Thank you so much." She said, grasping his hand and pressing his fingers to her lips, peppering them with kisses. She slowly dropped his hand and walked to the crib that sat before the wide windows, kneeling down so that her eyes were level with the top.

It was then that she noticed the carvings. A border motive of nursery rhyme characters graced the top of the crib, each little character and face perfectly carved. She could hardly believe that it had all been done by Erik's hands. How talented her beloved was. It made her heart break to think of all the time and effort that he had spent on their little one. It truly showed how much he loved their child, and her.

"Erik, it's so beautiful. You are so clever. I love you so much." She said, running into his arms and throwing her arms about his neck.

"And I love you. More than you could ever know. We can decorate the room together; choose the colour scheme and material furnishings." He whispered into her thick curls, holding her close to his chest, to his heart, knowing that he had his wife back once again, safe within his arms where she belonged.

**I'm really sorry, but I'm going on holiday next week, and unfortunately there will be no Internet connection. So I won't be able to post another chapter until the week after. I'm so sorry, I promise as soon as I return, updates will return to normal! :)**


	37. Chapter 37

(_Christine)_

"Have you decided on a colour scheme yet, my love?" Erik asked, gripping the reins of the horses tight within his hands as they sat up front of the closed carriage. They had decided that Erik would remain inside the carriage, away in the shadows within the silken lined interior, outside the store, whilst Christine went in to make the necessary purchases. He knew that she would make the perfect choice when it came to deciding upon items for the nursery of their little one, whilst he hid his face from prying eyes and curious stares.

"I have, my love. I was thinking perhaps pale yellow, seeing as we do not know whether are having a little boy or little girl." She said with a smile, her hands cupped gently to the light swell of her stomach. At three and a half month, the presence of their little one was beginning to show through the fine material of summer gowns that she could do little to disguise.

"That is a perfect idea. How can one so young be so clever?" He said flatteringly, and she giggled, her cheeks turning a faint pink.

"You flatter me Erik." She said, and pressed closer to Erik's wiry arm. Whilst her mind was filled with thought of babies and plump little squishy feet in her palm, his scrambled for an answer to a problem that had long puzzled him. What was he to buy his wife, the mother of his unborn child, who would be turning eighteen in a week. She had whatever she could wish for. He simply did not know what to get. As his mind raced, out of the corner of his eye he caught the gleam of the diamond that sat upon her finger. Of course. A special piece of jewellery that she could keep forever. After he was long gone, she could remember him by it. But what?

It was not long before they arrived in town. The wheels of the carriage rumbled over the cobbled streets, the crowds of people parting, and they pulled up outside the first stop. The haberdashery. Erik hopped down from the carriage and extending his hand to Christine, she grasped it and stepped down, smoothing down the material of her gown.

"For you, my love. Let money be no object. If you like it, you may buy it." He said, handing a pouch of gold coins, and bending on tiptoes to press her lips to his, she walked into the shop, turning back at the door to shoot him a smile.

"Let me feed your horses for you sir?" A small ruffian boy, malnourished and scruffy with long locks of greasy hair stuffed beneath an ill fitting cap sauntered up to the horses, pressing his grubby hand to its strong neck, and the thoroughbred tossed its head and snorted. If the horse's reaction hadn't been enough to scare the boy, the look upon Erik's face would have been.

"You are not to touch my horses. I do not require your services." He said, his voice clipped and simmering with anger. It was not the words of the boy, for who could blame a poor child from trying to earn a little money? No, it was the way that the boy had gawped at his face, at the white porcelain of his mask that glowed in the bright daylight. He had been an idiot not to wear a hood to conceal it, but when he had had Christine by his side, he had never considered that anyone would notice him when her beauty was so prominent. Pulling the hood of his specially designed summer cloak up to hide his mask, he stepped up to the horses, stroking their strong necks soothingly as he tied their reigns to a post.

Bubbling with anger, he climbed into the interior of the carriage, slamming the door behind him. Tucked into an inner pocket, he had brought along his newest creation; a flesh colour mask of fine, supple leather that would mould to his face and appear no different to actual flesh, or at least he hoped so. With it, he hoped that he could be a normal man, but had decided he would test it within society without Christine's knowledge. Should it be a disaster, and people realise that it was a mask, then he need never show his face in town again, without shaming Christine as well. Time to put it to the test.

xXx

She stepped into the shop, a little bell above the door ringing to announce her entrance. Every space of the shop was covered with rolls of material of all colours and patterns. Behind a counter sat an old woman, her silvery-white hair knotted in a bun on the top of her head, concentrating on the movement of her knitting needle.

"Good morning." Christine called, walking with wide-eyed wonder up to the counter, a smile of awe upon her lips. She was like a child in a sweet-shop, the vast range of colours and fabrics; the pretty pastel cotton and the cream, frilly lace.

"Good morning to you, my dear. May I be of assistance?" The old woman said, finishing her stitch and laying down her needles, her friendly blue eyes meeting Christine's.

"Yes please. I have come in search of material for a nursery..."

"Oh congratulations my dear. How far along are you?" She asked, interrupting Christine, her eyes settling upon the little bump visible through Christine's gown. If another had asked such a personal question, she thought that she would have been offended at the importance, but there was something about the woman's gentle, lined face, and so she replied with a proud smile.

"Three and a half months. My husband and I are decorating the nursery in a pastel yellow colour scheme. Perhaps you could show me some materials..."

"Where is your husband now?" She asked, interrupting Christine once again, and rising to her feet, walked around to Christine's side of the counter and placed her hands on the bump.

Slightly confused, she stood still whilst the woman rubbed her hands over her stomach. "My husband couldn't come with me today; he was busy with his work. He's a musician." She added, cringing internally at the little white lie, as the woman removed her hands from Christine's stomach and stepped back.

"I'm pleased to tell you that you're having a baby boy." The woman said, watching as it sank in and Christine's eyes widened in surprise.

"Are you certain? How can you tell?" She asked, her eyes sparkling in delight, and her hands subconsciously cupped her stomach, and the baby boy within.

"You are carrying high, my dear. My mother was a midwife, and when I was younger, I helped her alot. She always told me that carrying a baby high meant that it was a girl, and carrying a baby low was a boy. And you are clearly carrying low." She had left Christine dazzled. She had never thought it possible that she would know the gender of their baby before it was born, and yet know she did. She didn't really know how to feel. Knowing that she, they, were having a son. It left her speechless.

"Tha...thank you for telling me." She stuttered, unable to think clearly.

"It was no trouble. Now, shall I help you find some material?" She decided to tell Erik her news. It was not that she wished to keep it from him, but they had both been eagerly anticipating the surprise of their child's gender at its birth, and she did not wish to ruin that for him. In some ways, she wished that she never been told, but, she thought to herself, it was possible that the old woman was wrong. Either way, if she were carrying a boy, she could not be more pleased. With a smile, she pressed her hands to the little Erik growing within.

xXx

He walked into the jewellers, his head held high as if he were not fully aware of the leather that hid his distorted face.

"Good morning sir, can I help you?" A young woman, her long black, high-necked gown swished as she walked to the counter, standing with her hands folded on the glass counter as she waited for Erik to walk over.

"Yes please. I am looking for a present for my wi...daughter." He said, telling a lie to hide the truth. Worried that she would ask Christine's age, it would easier to call her his daughter.

"Very good sir. And may I ask how old your daughter is?" She said, and he smiled internally, thankful that he had previously lied.

"She will be eighteen."

"Very good sir. Did you have a piece in mind? A necklace perhaps or a bracelet?" She asked, and now that they were face to face, his eyes reluctantly met hers. Would she notice his mask? Trying to steady his pounding heart, he waited for her curious gaze...but it never came.

"I..I was thinking perhaps a locket, so that she may keep it for the rest of her life." He said, swallowing the lump of nerves that had risen in his throat, as his eyes scanned the trays of jewellery beneath the glass counter.

"A good choice." She said, and walking out from behind the counter, she walked across the room to another counter, opening the back with a key from the bunch that hung at her waist. She re-locked the cabinet and walked back to Erik, carrying two trays of necklaces, of which were several lockets of both silver and gold.

"I am afraid sir that we do not offer much choice in lockets." She said, placing the trays down before Erik for him to inspect. It did not take much debating. He knew immediately which one to buy for her. It sat nestled between two others, sparking in the shaft on natural daylight, the sun ray's glinting off the polished gold surface. Tentatively, he raised it from the tray with his fingertips, examining the detail of the fine seed pearls and the knotted, rope-like design of the gold that border the design.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" She said dreamily, watching as he slipped his nail under the catch, and it sprung open, revealing two slots for a photo.

"It is magnificent. May I inquire as to the price?" He said, transfixed in the craftsmanship, and reaching for the little tag that hung from the item, she read him the price. His jaw would have dropped had he not clenched it.

"That is rather expensive." He said, debating as to whether Christine would prefer a more simple design.

"That it is sir, but it has taken many hours work and it would look lovely around your daughter's neck." She said sweetly, her voice willing him to buy it. The price they asked was far more than it was worth, but he was reluctant to let to it go. He could just imagine how it would look against the porcelain skin of Christine's skin, nestled amongst her loose chocolate curls. How ravishing she would look.

"I will take it." He said, placing it gently back down upon the tray.

"Very good sir." She swept away with the trays, leaving Erik to stand alone, feeling uncomfortable in his environment. His face had grown hot beneath the mask, and it had begun to itch. He needed to get outside as soon as possible and return to the carriage where he could remove it. He tapped his fingers nervously against the glass, eagerly anticipating her return. His eyes scanned the small shop. There were several other people within, but they were too engrossed in their own business to care about him. He breathed a sigh of relief when she returned a few minutes later, a neatly wrapped box within her hands. He handed her the money and waited whilst she wrote a receipt, sweat building up around the collar of his shirt. The moment the paper touched his fingertips, he seized the box, and tucking it into his inner pocket, he strode from the shop, calling a good bye to the assistant as he left, his breathing heavy. As the door shut behind him, he shakily exhaled and walked swift to his safe haven to await Christine's appearance.

xXx

With the gift for his beloved resting safely in his inner pocket, along with his flesh-coloured mask, he sat up front on the carriage with Christine whilst she discussed the many items that had been placed inside the carriage.

"I couldn't resist them Erik. They all called to me. You should not have provided me with so much money." She said, listing the items that she had purchased that day. As she spoke, his mind raced once again. He had so much to plan, to make her birthday special. He would show her how deeply he loved her and how much she truly meant to him.

**If you'd like to see the 'real deal' of the locket that Erik bought Christine, follow the link. I wish I had one like that! Anyway, thank you for reading! :)**

** . ?dtn=09083-4229&titel=Magnificent%20French%20Victorian%20locket%20with%20enamel,%20seed%20pearls%20and%20filigree**


	38. Chapter 38

_Later that day..._

(_Christine_)

"Keep up Erik. I've nearly finished my wall." Christine said with a grip, rubbing her aching back with one hand as she wiped her forehead with the back of the other. Since arriving home, they had been working on decorating the nursery, beginning with painting the walls with the pastel yellow paint that Christine had purchased in town.

"Perhaps you should take things slower Christine. You've been working quite strenuously. You don't want to hurt the baby." Erik said, dipping his paintbrush into the tin and streaking it upon the wall with a fluid flick of his wrist.

"There's not that much more left to do now. I'll finish this wall,and then take a walk. My legs and back are beginning to cramp." She said, inhaling sharply as a twinge of pain shot through her lower back, and gritting her teeth, she continued to coat the bare wall until it was covered with a smooth layer.

"Done." She said, rocking back onto her heels and slowly rising to her feet to admire her handiwork. 'Not bad.' She thought, noting with a discerning eye faults in her work. It did not matter though, for the walls would need another coat later on.

"As am I, my love." Said Erik, finishing his stroke and laying down his brush. Now, all four walls had had one coat, and yet this had dramatically changed the look of the room. No longer was it just a room with items of furniture in it, it was now the nursery of their little one.

"You must stretch your legs Christine to get the blood re-circulating within your legs. While you do so, I shall prepare some lunch." He said, and bending to collect their used paintbrushes, linked Christine's arm through his own and left the room, Christine unsteady on her feet that were numb with pins and needles.

"Don't be long my love. I cannot bare to be separated from you." He whispered into the shell of her ear as he held her close to him. With a press of his lips to her forehead, he turned on his heel and strode from her, leaving her alone in the entrance hall to their home.

The feeling returning to her legs, she cupped her hands to her stomach and exhaled breathily, pausing for a moment before walking through the house and entering the garden by the wide French doors. The heat of the sun struck her, and she wished instantly that she had bought a parasol with her to shield her from the hot, tanning rays.

A fair breeze stirred the loose strands of her hair, and she revelled in the cool against her flushed skin. With a sweet, soft melody upon her lips, she strolled through their formal garden, watching the bees, fat with golden upon their little legs buzz from one flower to another, drunk on the sweet nectar.

The sound of the water splashing as it tumbled into the stone fountain called to her. She walked towards it, seating herself gently upon the rim, and with the tips of her fingers, splashed the surface, enjoying the feel of the chill water. The carp swam lazily beneath the surface, their tails flicking slowly, as the reflection of the clouds danced on the disrupted surface. What it was to be free. At that moment, she thought of her life before Erik. If he had never entered her world, what would she be like now? At this very moment, would she be in another home just as magnificent, married to a man whom she loved with all of her heart, watching the world pass her by on a hot summers day. Or would she be a slave to her husband, toiling for many hours to feed her drunkard husband and three young children whilst pregnant with a fourth? She shuddered at the thought. How fortunate she was. If it had not been for Erik, her daydream would have been reality.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of colour, and turning quickly, she caught a glimpse of two people, about fifty metres of so from where she was sitting, digging around and searching in the fruit and vegetable plot. Rising swift to her feet, she scanned her surrounds for something to take with her to defend herself. The only item available was a thin post that had bed supporting a trailing rose that had now died. Carefully pulling it free from the soil, she seized it with one hand and began to walk towards them, her heart pounding within her ears. As she got closer, she noticed that it was young girl and an older boy of her own age dressed in patched a torn dark, dull clothing. The girls hair was long, auburn and wild and had clearly never know the luxury of hairbrush, whilst the boy wore an old cloth cap upon his cropped hair. They were picking fruit and vegetables from her plants, the very ones that she had only recently tended to with love, the voice from the fruit spilling from their lips as they stuffed the food into their eager mouths.

With their attention diverted, she walked close to them, but before she could reach them, the girl turned to face her, her eyes wide with fear, and grasping the hand of the boy, they ran away. Abandoning her 'weapon' and picking up her skirts with both hands, she ran after them, her breathing heavy and her stomach tightening.

"Stop, please. I only wish to talk with you." She called after them, unable to run further due to the increasing cramp in her stomach. She would not risk the well-being of their child. Her breathing laboured, she leant forward, her hand clasped tightly upon her knees as she struggled to regain her breath. Looking up, she saw that the two people had disappeared. She had only wanted to talk with them. She would not have scolded. It was a shame that they had fled, as she would have given them supplies from the pantry, for they were as she had once been.

Feeling nauseas from her exertion, she made her way slowly back to the house, bent like an old beggar, her hand pressed to her stomach. She needed to sit down, to have something to eat to line her stomach, and rest.

"There you are my love. I was beginning to worry." He said, his and crease between his brows. When he saw the look upon her blanched face, the crease deepened and worry glimmered in his eyes.

"Christine, my love, is everything alright?"

"Yes, thank you Erik. I think I may have overexerted myself." She said, thankful for the support of Erik's hand as he cupped her elbow and guided her to the plush, cushioned bench upon their veranda.

"Christine, I told you take it slowly. You should listen to me, my angel, for I know of what I speak." He said, seating himself beside her and gathering her close to his side.

"I know Erik, I am sorry." She said,the tears rising beneath her lids, and Erik shushed her, gathering her tears upon his fingertip.

"Do not cry, my love. It is our child inside you making you feel this way, but it will be better soon, I promise you." He said, and rising to his feet, he pressed his lips chastely to hers. "I had prepared us lunch, but I do not think that you could manage a proper meal now, am I correct?" She nodded in response and a faint smile touched his lips. "I shall make you some lemonade, the lemon will help to settle your stomach, and perhaps you could manage a few dry crackers, for you must eat something." He said,and when she nodded silently, her cupped her cheek, wiping away her tears with a flick of his thumb, and left her alone to her thoughts.

A boy. A little boy was growing inside of her this very moment. She wondered what is was like to be an unborn baby. Were they aware of their surroundings? Did they think? She could not suppress the smile at the thought that their child was enjoying themselves inside her whilst she suffered for it.

'It will be worth it when you are born, my little one.' She whispered to the swell of her stomach, caressing it through the fine material of her gown, and leaning back against the plush cushions,she watched with a smile upon her lips as the birds danced and called to one another in bright blue summer sky, the smell of sweet flowers upon the breeze as all the world appeared to be happy beneath the blazing, golden sun.

**I'm sorry that this chapter was so short, but things have been pretty hectic here. I've have multiple essays sand assignments and life has been...chaotic. But thank you for sticking with me! :)**


	39. Chapter 39

_Two days later..._

(_Christine_)

It was 5 days before she turned eighteen. In 5 days, she would be a legal adult, and half way through her pregnancy. As the sun beat down upon the hard, dry earth, she sat upon their veranda, a glass of cool, refreshing lemonade clasped within her hand. _God, it was so hot!_ Her heavy curls were piled upon the top of her head to keep them from her heated skin, but fine strands that had escaped from the tight bun were plastered against her perspiring forehead.

Placing down her drink, she picked up her crotchet needles and the pattern which had fallen from her lap, and continued to crotchet, her fingers working quickly as her eyes scanned the pattern. She had intended to make little booties to keep their child's feet warm, for although it was hot now, when their little one arrived, it would be the middle of winter. Humming to herself, her mind drifted to Erik as he slaved away in the nursery. After the other day, when she had been close to collapsing with exhaustion, he had bade her to sit and rest, on pain of 'punishment', although she sincerely doubted that Erik could ever bring himself to 'punish' her. He had said that he needed to finish the walls, and arrange the furniture that they had purchased, so with nothing to do, she had decided to crotchet.

As the little cream boot began to take shape, the sound of the big silver bell that announced the arrival of a visiter sounded throughout the house, and through the open window, she heard the sound and rose quickly to her feet, depositing her materials upon the now vacant seat. She decided to answer call, knowing that Erik would be consumed by his work and unable to hear the noise anyway. Walking quickly through the house, she slowly opened the door. And stopped. It was the young man and the little girl.

"Good morning Miss. My sister and I, well we, we wanted to come and apologise for the other day. You see, Miss, we're awfully hungry since our mother died and our father just drinks all day. We know it's wrong, Miss, and we wanted to give you these." The young man said, his fingers twitching as he fumbled with the rim of his cloth cap. He nudged the young girl, and with a grin, she thrust out a posy of hedgerow flowers of pretty purple, pink and yellow.

"Thank you very much, that is very kind of you." She said, taking the posy and raising the flowers to her nose, a smile upon her lips.

"You're welcome Miss. But please accept our apology, we won't ever do it again." He said, and the girl grinned, revealing teeth that were blackened and missing, and Christine's heart leapt with sorrow.

"I do, do not fret. I understand. But pray, what are your names?" She asked, raising her eyes from the little girl to the young man, and with a twitch of her lips, she watched his cheek tinge pink.

"My name's Aimée."

"And my name is Benjamin, Miss." He said, lowering his eyes from her gaze, as they settled upon his worn, scruffy shoes.

"And mine is Christine. Please, call me Christine, instead of Miss." She said with a sweet smile to reassure them.

"If you say so Miss, I...I mean Christine." He said, blushing a deeper shade of pink, and Aimée pressed her little fingers to her mouth to stifle her childish giggles.

"How old are you both?" She asked, aware that she was prying, but wishing to know the age of the two innocent children who were suffering the same fate as she once had.

"I'm four." Said Aimée, displaying her age upon her fingers, and Christine's heart melted at the sight. The little girl was adorable, if only she had been better cared for and loved by her parents.

"And I am eighteen." Benjamin said quietly, his fingers picking at a hole in his thread-bare shirt to keep his eyes from Christine. So very close to her own age, and yet he looked so much older than her. Hard work and pain had born their mark upon his youthful being.

'I think that we should leave now Aimée.' He bent down to whisper into the ear of his sister, and straightening, he raised his eyes to Christine's.

"We're sorry to have caused you trouble. We shall not bother you again. Good day, Christine." He said, and grasping the hand of his sister, he placed his cap jauntily upon his head and turned to go.

"Don't go. I...I will find you some food." She said, reaching out to touch the sleeve of his tattered jacket.

"Christine, we did not come to ask for your charity. You don't have to..."

"No, I will. I..I want you to know that last year, I was in the same situation as you are now. My father, he...he was a drunkard, he...he used to beat me. But then I met my saviour. If..if you will wait here a moment, then I will return with a few items for you." She said, smoothing the skirts of her gown to hide the growing baby bump in the loose, billowy material.

"Thank you, Christine, we...I..." He stuttered, and with a heartwarming smile, she grasped the handle of the door and slowly re-entered the house, her eyes trained upon the two figures upon their doorstep.

The skirts of her gown swishing about her ankles, she walked quickly to the kitchen, collecting a woven basket and a vase for the flowers as she entered. Filling the vase with sparkling,cool water, she strode to the cupboard and retrieved the sugar tin, emptying two spoonfuls within the vase to feed the posy. Placing the arrangement upon the windowsill above the sink, she returned to the task at hand. What was she to put inside the basket? Walking to the larder, she selected a few tinned goods; sardines and peaches, a loaf of wholemeal bread, a chunk of cheese and a handful of strawberries from their fruit and vegetable plot. Returning to the kitchen with her arms laden with food, she placed them carefully inside the basket. Not knowing whether they had a fresh water supply, she took a tall glass bottle from a cupboard and filled it with icy, crystal water, laying it carefully within the basket so as not to break.

Grasping the handle firmly within her hand, and lifting it carefully from the worktop, she turned around to the open doorway. To be met with a paint-splattered Erik.

"What are you doing Christine?"

"I...I'm...nothing." She said, stuttering, avoiding his piercing gaze as she shifted the weight of the basket within her grip.

"Well, my love, that basket says otherwise." Erik said, one eyebrow raising upon his mask-less face, a hint of amusement and bewilderment within his tone.

"I...I am sorry Erik. I cannot lie to you. There is...there is a young brother and sister upon our doorstep who are in a situation very similar to my life before you. I...I thought you would not mind that I give them a few little bit." She said, shyly raising her eyes to his, and there seeing nothing but love in his shining golden orbs.

"That is the problem, my love, your heart is simply too big. But you are right, it is the correct thing to do. I will not stop you." He said, his lips twitching, and she leant up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips to his sunken cheek.

"Thank you Erik." Running her fingers down the length of his wiry arm as she left the room, her little finger linking quickly with his, she walked swiftly to entrance hall and opened the door to the two figures.

"I want you to have this. There is some bread, cheese and fruit and also some water." She stated, holding out the basket of goods, and slowly, Benjamin's fingers locked around the woven handle, the tips of his fingers brushing against Christine's, and he blushed furiously.

"Thank you so much. We are most grateful."

"You are welcome. If...if you come back another day, I will give you some more food, and maybe a few items of clothing. They will probably be too big, but..."

"I would not dare ask for any more than what you have already given." He stuttered, shaking his head, and his little sister joined in, her loose, wild hair whipping about her head like a flaming curtain.

"It is no trouble, I insist. This will not be the last time that we will meet. Good day Benjamin and Aimée."

"Good day Christine." Both chorused, and with one last smile, she slowly shut the door, leaning heavily against it for support as she tried to calm her rapid breathing, another smile threatening to break upon her lips. She wanted to see them again, to know that in a small way, that she was providing them with a small ray of sunshine and hope within the darkness of their lives.

**Once again I must apologise. I find that I am losing the motivation to write, and as much as it pains me, I do not know where else to go with this. But don't worry, I am sure that inspiration ****_will_**** strike, and the chapters will get better, I promise! Thank you for your continued support! :)**


	40. Chapter 40

**Just a warning; this chapter has slight M content. It is nothing graphic, but I thought that I should warn you. If you would rather miss it, I'll see you next chapter! :)**

_Five days later..._

(_Christine_)

As the layers of sleep fell away and her senses became more alert, her eyes snapped open, flickering shut against the brightness of the shafts of sunlight that fell through the wide open windows. As she snuggled back beneath the covers, the thought dawned upon her. It was her birthday. She was now eighteen.

Eyelids snapping open, she turned in bed, expecting to be greeted with Erik's warm embrace...to find that she was alone. Erik's side of the bed was empty, the covers drawn back and the pillow re-plumped. Her heart sank at the sight.

Finding herself getting hot beneath the covers, the day already barmy despite the early hour, she slowly sat up in bed and swung her legs over the edge, waiting for rush of blood to her head to settle, her hands cupping her swelling stomach. Gently rising to her feet, she walked into the marble bathroom and made her toilette, splashing her heated cheeks with cool water. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she returned to her room. Still no sign of Erik.

'Where is he? I wish he were here to hold me in his arms and wish me a happy birthday.' She thought to herself with a sigh, and walked slowly to her wardrobe, selecting clean under garments and a new summer frock of pastel blue with full-length lace sleeves and light, swishing skirt.

She dressed leisurely, leaving the ties of her dress loose so as to accommodate for the heat and her growing bump. Taking a seat at her dressing table, she untied the tight plait of her curls and shook them free so that they fell like a wild, heavy curtain around her shoulders. Reaching for her heavy silver hairbrush, she carefully brushed her curls, wincing as it snagged in the knots in her curls. Laying down her hairbrush, she gathered her curls within her hands and tied them tight at the back of her head to keep them from escaping and sticking to her hot skin.

Tucking the ends of the midnight blue velvet ribbon inside the mass of her hair, she checked her reflection within the mirror. Perfect. It was then that she noticed the piece of folded parchment tucked behind one of her jars of face cream. With a smile of curiosity upon her lips, she reached for the item and carefully opened it, laughing in surprise as a shower of fresh red rose petals fell from between the folded sheet onto her lap, their sweet scene rising.

Pressing her fingers to her lips to suppress the wide grin which threatened to split her lips, she read the letter.

_My Darling Christine,_

_Eighteen years ago today, the angels smiled upon the earth and you were born. I wish that I had been an ordinary man and had had the chance to meet your parents, to thank them for your birth. Each day that passes, you grow in loveliness and I find myself falling for you more and more. The past six months that we have had together have saved me, my love, and I only wish that I had been there from the very beginning. _

_You must excuse my absence, but it is so that I can make you know how truly loved you are, upon this special day and forevermore._

_You are my love, my angel from heaven sent to redeem the sinner that I am. You hold my heart within your hands._

_Yours for always,_

_Erik._

That explained why he was not here with her, but what was he preparing? Her inquisitive nature sought answers, and swiftly rising to her feet, the petals fluttering to the floor around her feet, she placed the note upon the dressing table and walked out of the room in search of Erik. As she came to the top of the stairs, she noticed upon the cream carpet a scattering of red rose petals that trailed in a line down the marble staircase. With a smile of amusement upon her sweet lips, she followed the path of petals as it wound down the spiral stairs and across the hall into the dining room. The petals stopped at the heavy wooden door, and grasping the handle and opening it, she saw that the path of rose petals upon the carpet around the table and out between the French doors, the view of outside blocked by the light curtains which fluttered and danced in the faint breeze. Quickening her pace, she slipped through the room and out into the glare of the morning sun, dazzled by the light.

Her seat upon the veranda had been cleared, and in its place a small round table laid with her favourite dishes; a plate of sweet chocolate chunks, freshly baked rolls, ham, cheese and a bowl piled high with fresh fruits. And there, standing proud beside the spread, was her beloved.

"My love. Good morning." He said, bowing to her, his golden eyes trained upon her face as his body lowered, and rising, her strode towards her and gathered her within his arms, cupping her head close to his solid shoulder. "Happy eighteenth birthday my Christine." He breathed into her curls, and she could hear the steady pound of his heart through the fine material of his shirt. Stepping fractionally from her embrace, he cupped his hands to her cheeks and pressed his lips to hers, his mouth moving languidly with hers and her hands clutched tightly at his back. His tongue flicked the corner of her lip, and she melted within his arms. A sigh fell from between her parted lips as the attention of his lips moved from her lips to her ear and neck, nibbling at her flesh and sucking upon her lobe.

"Erik, I...I.." She panted, struggling for words, and with a wicked smile against her flesh, he stepped away, leaving her wanting. As she struggled to regain her breath, her chest heaving and her hands pressed to her stomach, she shot him an angry pout and he chuckled.

" I apologise my love. I should not have been so cruel." He said across the table as they both seated them at the table, Erik pouring both them a mug of hot, steaming tea. Handing it to her, as if a peace offering, she accepted with a grin, unable to stay angry at him for leaving her gasping and wanting.

"I must admit Erik, it was a rather nice birthday gift." She said, her cheeks dusting pink, and he chuckled the deep, throaty laugh that rumbled within his bony chest that Christine so loved to hear.

"You are most welcome. You are not the only one to enjoy such...gifts." He said, and she giggled, raising her teacup to her lips and taking a small sip of the sweet liquid.

They did not speak for several minutes, instead enjoying the spread of food before them. Every other moment, she would find his eyes trained upon, and would meet his gaze, their held glance expressing the love and devotion which needed no words.

As the last mouthful passed her lips, Erik reached beneath the table and produced a package wrapped with pastel pink parchment, a thick deep pink ribbon binding the package.

"What is this Erik? Is it for me?" She said quietly, unbelievingly, accepting the package from Erik's large hands.

"Who else would it possibly be for, my love? I do not see another beautiful, eighteen year old around here, do you? "He said chuckling; watching as she slowly untied the ribbon, parting the paper to reveal the sapphire box within.

"What is it Erik?" She asked, raising her eyes to his watchful ones.

"Open the box and you will see."

With trembling fingers, she slowly lifted the box from the wrapping, and placing the paper and ribbon carefully upon the table, she opened the lid of the box. And gasped. An audible gasp of surprise and delight escaped from between her lips, and tears welled beneath her lashes. It was gorgeous. A perfect, seed-pearl studded locket with a fine, knot-like engraving around the edge. She was speechless.

"Erik, it's...I...thank you so very much." She choked, raising the locket with her fingertips from the plush surroundings of the box.

"You are most welcome my darling. I was thinking...of course, it is your choice, but I could provide you with one of the few locks of my sparse hair to keep inside the locket. "He said, rising from his seat opposite her and gliding to her side, freeing the locket from the box, he secured it around her delicate neck, pressing his deformed lips to the nape of her neck.

"You look stunning, my angel." He whispered, stepping to her side to see the full effect of the locket that hung against her chest, nestled amongst the fine lace around the neckline of her gown, and she blushed at his compliment.

"Do you have any requests as to how we pass our day?" He asked, resuming his seat at the table opposite her, his hand stretched across the table towards her, which she quickly seized within her own, the other clasped about her new locket.

"I was thinking...perhaps we could go to the river. I find that I am rather hot, and I quite like the idea of a swim. "

"But of course. It is, after all, your day, although I most wholeheartedly agree, it is hot today. If you go and ready yourself, I shall prepare us some lunch to take with us." Erik said, rising to his feet, and Christine mirrored the action, one hand pressed to her aching back.

His back turned as he bent over the table to gather the food items, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, pressing her body as close to his as she could with her swelling stomach.

"I am so very very grateful for my gift. It is beautiful. Thank you, my love." She said against his shirt, and he rose slowly, turning within her arms. "I love you so very much Erik." She said quietly, and rising to her tip-toes, she pressed her lips gently to his, their lips touching and pausing there, revelling in the feel of one another.

"Go now, my love, or I shall be forced to sweep you into my arms and make love to you upon this table." He said, his voice dark with suppressed emotion, and she blushed deeply, pressing her hand to his cheek and turning slowly upon her heel, walking back upstairs to gather the necessary items for a swim.

The sound of her childish laughter carried upon the faint summer breeze as Erik splashed her with the cool, fresh water of the river. She flicked it back, raising her arms to shield herself from the droplets.

"Come here Erik." She called seductively, and laughed as he struggled across the width of the river to her, stumbling upon the loose riverbed.

Placing her hand against the flat plane of his chest, she cupped his chin with her palm and pulled his closer to her, lowering them both beneath the rivers' surface. Straddling his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, pressing her wanting body tight to his. How she loved the hard feel of him, the solidness of his form beneath her touch. The sound of their breath, coupled as one, resounded within her ears, and her hips moved subconsciously against his.

"Christine, please. I cannot...we cannot. We must stop. Please." He panted, breaking the contact of their lips, and she pulled back from him, her eyes scanning his pained, bare face.

"But why not, my love. I want it, as much as you do. We are not doing anything wrong. We are married; after all, we are not sinning. And there is no-one around. I...I want to feel you Erik." She pleaded, her hands sliding up from his chest to lock around his neck.

"I find that I must deny you my sweet angel. Later, if you still wish, then I will consent. But...it shames to admit that I...I would not be able to...perform now, for I have not taken my...medication." He said, drawing her arms from around his neck and holding her hands tight within his own, his face turned from hers.

"It is alright, Erik, I swear. But tonight, my love, I will not let you say no."

"Dinner was most delicious my love. Thank you." She said, pressing the clean napkin to her lips to remove any last trace of her meal.

"You are most welcome." He said, rising to his feet. "You must excuse me, my angel. I...have some business that I must attend to." He said, and brushing a kiss to the crown of her head, he glided from the room before she had the chance to protest.

Feeling crestfallen, she sat at her place, her hands caressing her stomach. What business could be more important than spending time with her on her birthday? She did not wish to think selfishly, but surely she was the most important thing to him. If the 'business' that he was referring to was a new idea for a composition that had entered his mind, why had he not simply told her. They did not keep secrets from one another anymore, he had promised her that.

Finding that she needed to 'powder her nose', she rose slowly to her feet and made her way upstairs, her footsteps slow as she trailed her way to her room. Entering her room, she noticed that the door to her bathroom was firmly shut, and she could hear what appeared to be the sound of running water. What one earth was Erik doing? Walking to the door, she opened it. And stopped. For inside was Erik, the room illuminated with many candles that were scattered throughout the room and around the edge of the bath, which Erik was bent over, filling with hot, steaming water, she sweet scent of roses upon the air.

"Erik?" She said, and he turned, a look of guilt upon his face at having been caught in the act.

"Christine. This was meant to have been a surprise."

"I am sorry Erik, but I need to powder my nose." She said, blushing, at having disturbed Erik the act of preparing a surprise of her.

"Alright my love. I shall leave you to powder your nose and enjoy your bath. Should you need anything, my dear, I shall come." He said, and turned to go, but was stopped by the touch of Christine's gentle touch upon his arm.

"I...would you join me?"

"Christine, I...I cannot. "

"But I want it. I want to be with you." She pleaded, pouting slightly, and watched with delight as Erik's resolve crumbled.

"Then I cannot deny you. But I shall leave you for a moment to powder your nose." He said, and turning, left the room, shutting the door behind him for privacy and to keep the heat within. She quickly relieved herself, and after washing her hands and double checking her reflection within the mirror, she opened the door to Erik.

Suddenly awkward, she stepped aside to let him enter, and shut the door behind him. She had lost her nerve and did not know how to proceed from there.

"Christine, you have no need to fear. I will not touch you, if you do not wish it. We shall share a bath, and that is all." He said soothingly, stepping closer to her and taking her slim hand within his own. Nodding slowly, Erik stepped around to her back and began to undo the ties of her dress, watching as it pooled around her ankles. They slowly removed the clothes of the other, revelling in the touch of each other's skin, until both stood naked before one another. Holding his hand out to Christine, she grasped it and stepped into the bath, settling against the marble side as Erik climbed in after her, seating himself at the opposite end of the tub, his legs on the outside of hers.

"Come to me Christine." He whispered, his voice desperate and craving, and crawled towards him, settling between his spread legs, resting her head against his chest. His arms slowly locked around her waist, his hand settling upon the gentle swell of her stomach. Words were not needed.

She turned her face to him, her lips touching his. Spurred on by the movement of Erik's hand to the swell of thighs, she turned so that she rested on all fours over his form, their lips and tongues battling as his hands explored the expanse of her flesh.

Straddling his hips, they made love within the confines of the bathtub, the soapy water splashing over the rim at their actions. Once both had reached climax, calling the other's name, they collapsed within the rapidly cooling water, their limbs tangled as their rapid breathing slowed.

When the water had become cold, Erik rose from the tub, and seizing one of the towels, stepped out and dried himself, Christine watching his lazily through half-lidded eyes. Once dry, he bade Christine to stand, and wrapped her in the other towel, rubbing her dry gently. The towel around her form, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to her bed, settling her naked beneath the covers. Climbing in beside her, he gathered her into his arms, her head against his shoulder, and she settled beneath the covers, a contended smile of bliss upon her lips.

"Thank you Erik for today. I am.." She said, her voice no louder than a whisper as she lost the battle with sleep and descended into the realm of dreams.

"You are welcome, my love. Sweet dreams."

**For any of my readers who do not know the expression, to powder one's nose is a more polite way of saying to go to the toilet.**


	41. Chapter 41

_The next morning..._

(_Christine_)

She awoke the next morning to the sound of the sweet birds call, and with a contented sigh, she rolled over in bed, mumbling in her half-consciousness. Something made her open her eyes, and weakly raising herself from the bed, she reached to the little clock that sat upon her bedside table. She had to read the face several times, her brain refusing to register the lateness of the hour. With a gasp, she slipped from the bed, running into her bathroom and shutting the door quickly behind her. She had not noticed that Erik was no-where to be seen, and embarrassed about her nudity, she took the silken gown from the hook behind the door and slipped it on, wrapping the cord tight around her expanding stomach.

Making her toilette, she washed her hands and face to freshen herself and walking quickly to her wardrobe, she selected clean undergarments. Returning to the bathroom, she dressed quickly, her thoughts upon Erik as her fingers fumbled with the ties. She could not help but settle upon the thoughts of last night. It made her cheeks redden in embarrassment at the way that they had coupled, her pregnant body craving his touch, his hard thrusts. She giggled at the memory, walking to her dressing table to brush her knotted curls.

Once they were securely tied at the back of her head, she bit her lips to bring colour to them, and fled from her room, calling Erik's name.

"Erik? Erik? Where are you?" She called desperately, running down the stairs and nearly slipping in her haste, her heart pounding within her chest. With as much logic as she could muster at that moment, she thought that she would most likely find him either in the kitchen or the library. The latter being the first that she could reach, she hurriedly entered the room to find it empty, it's only occupants the fine dust motes that danced in the late morning sun. Her face crumpling in disappointment, she decided that he must be in the kitchen, most likely preparing something delectable for her to eat, and with haste, she sped down the corridor, her light footsteps falling silently on the plush cream carpet.

As she entered the kitchen, her face fell. There was no sign of Erik. In despair, she stepped further into the large room, towards the kitchen table, and her eyes settled upon the folded piece of parchment, resting against a slim glass vase that contained a single, blood red rose. Walking closer to the table, she raised the vase from the table, pressing the velvet head to her cheek and inhaling the rich, heady aroma. Returning the vase to the table, her fingers strayed to the parchment, and unfolding the crisp edges, the scent of Erik, the smell of earth and musk and rich spices rose from the parchment, and her heart lurched. Her eyes scanned the lines of his scrawled script, her lower lip tight between her teeth as she bit it in worry.

My dearest Christine,

It is with the deepest regret that I must inform you that I must leave you for today. I find that I have been called away on business, and regrettably this will occupy the whole of the day. You know that I would rather have spent the day with you, my love, in your arms, but it cannot be helped. I trust that you will not be too lonely without me. I will hurry home as soon as I can.

Yours, forever and for always,  
Erik

She could not believe it. She was to spend the whole day, completely alone. It was not as if she had any friends nearby to whom she could pay a visit, for they had no neighbours for many miles. She felt dishearten. What was she to do?

At that moment, her thoughts were broken by the sound of the door bell. She waked slowly from the room to the entrance hall, questioning whether she should open the door or not as Erik was not here to protect her should she need it. Deciding to be brave, she slowly opened the door, and found a smile tugging at her lips. For on the doorstep stood Benjamin.

"Good morning Christine." He said quietly, his eyes meeting hers quickly, and then lowering to his feet.

"Good morning Benjamin." She said with a smile, opening the door wider. "How are you?"

"I am well, thank you."

"Where is your sister, where is Aimée?" Asked Christine, a crease of concern appearing between her perfectly arched brows.

"Unfortunately, Aimée is ill. She has a terrible cough and is...I do not wish to go into detail Christine, for I fear that it would upset you." He said quietly, his thoughts upon his beloved little sister who lay at home, in the crowded, stinking room, struggling to breathe.

"I hope that it is not too serious." She said, unsure how to respond, silently praying that the little girl would be alright. She saw that this young man had suffered too much already in his young life and prayed that he would not have to suffer further.

"She will survive. She is strong. But that was not why I came to see you today, Christine, for your sympathy. I came..."

"You came to take me up on my offer for the clothes and food. Do not worry, I promised that I would provide them for you, you do not have to be embarrassed." She said sweetly, smoothing the billowy skirts of her dress to hide her bump. For some unexplainable reason, she did not wish for him to see that she was with child. It...somehow did not seem right. She did not like the thought that he would judge her.

"You are very kind Christine." He said, his eyes on their feet, twisting his shoe upon the stone doorstep in embarrassment.

"Would you care to come inside and follow me upstairs to find some clothing? I'm sure that my husband must have some clothes that I can give you..." She said, climbing the marble staircase in front of him, looking over her shoulder to see him.

"You are married?"

"Yes...I am." She said, her cheeks reddening, but with a smile, and they both fell silent, Benjamin followed her to Erik's room.

"Do come in." She said, opening the door and standing in the doorway, watching as he he back. Unable to meet her eye, he followed her into the room.

"Perhaps these would be alright?" She said, drawing from his wardrobe a pair of black trousers that no longer fit his slim frame now that Christine had begun to succeed in her aim of fattening him up and pulling weight upon his prominent bones.

"They are perfect." He said with a smile, holding them up to his long legs, and in comparison to the moth-eaten rag like trousers that he was currently wearing,they looked like the garment of kings.

"And this. It might be a little big, but I'm sure that you will grow into it." She said, placing a shirt into his arms. "Oh, and here's another one, and another pair of trousers."

"Really, Christine, that is quite perfect." He said, his arms full of the items, as she laid another pair of trousers and a cropped jacket within his arms.

"Alright, Benjamin. I think that that is about it anyway. Now, shall we go and see if we can find something for Aimée?" She said, a smile tugging at her lips, walking to the door that separated their rooms, Benjamin following behind her like a devoted animal.

"Now, I know that these items will be far too big for your sister, but maybe your mother could make use the fabric to make some little dresses for her?" She said, and watching in horror as his face blanched.

"Our mother is...dead. She died when Aimée was born." He said quietly, and Christine's heart broke in sympathy.

"I am so sorry Benjamin."

"It is alright. Our father...he tries to care for us, but since our mother's death, he has...taken to drinking heavily." He said quietly, near to tears, and Christine walked closer to him and rubbed his arm gently.

"I shall alter some of my old dresses for Aimée." She said, her hand resting reassuringly against the rough material of his cropped jacket, and he sniffed loudly, his eyes squeezed shut to keep back the tears.

"That is very kind, too kind Christine." He said, wiping his nose against the sleeve of his jacket, and quietly followed Christine into her room, walking to her huge wardrobe, his eyes scanning her chamber, noting every detail from her wide bed to the pretty floral paper in the walls and her dressing tables with glass bottles of scent.

"I think that this would make some lovely little dresses, with a little work." She said, pulling out a couple of cotton frocks, one pale yellow and the other pale blue with scattered with tiny dark blue flowers. They no longer fit due to the size of her stomach, and once the baby arrived, she would need thicker garments than these thin summer dresses.

"Really Christine, that is enough." Laying a hand lightly upon the bare skin of her arm, and she nearly jolted at the touch. It sent shivers down her spine. Flustered, she tucked the loose curls that had escaped from her bun behind her ears, and shut the doors to her magnificent wardrobe.  
"Benjamin, would you care to stay for some lunch?" She asked, as they descended the stairs, both of their arms laden with hers and Erik's old clothing.

"I could not possibly expect to..no..I.."

"You must. If you leave these garments here and follow me, then I shall prepare us a bite to eat." She said with a smile, bending slowly to place the items carefully upon the floor by the front door, her hand pressed against her aching back, her knees clicking as she knelt down.

"Let me help you." Benjamin said, placing his armful of clothing on top of Christine's and supporting Christine's arm, helped her rise to her feet.

"Thank you Benjamin." She said, pained, noting how his hand lingered upon her arm. Coughing gently, she noted with a smile how he quickly withdrew his hand, his cheeks reddening.

"Come with me." She said with a smile, and they walked to the kitchen, her stomach rumbling. "I was considering having soup with freshly cooked rolls. How does that sound?"

"It sounds delicious. If you are sure that you would share with me."

"Of course. There is more than enough. If you would just sit here, it will not be long. Would you care for a glass of water?" She asked, and he nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen table, his eyes trained upon the blood-red rose. Walking to the cupboard, she selected two glasses, and filling the, with fresh crystal running water from the tap, placed one upon the table in front of Benjamin, raising the other to her lips and drinking deeply.

Like a whirlwind, she placed the chunky vegetable and chicken soup that Erik had made several days earlier upon the hob, putting four rolls into the Arga to warm. Within ten minutes, lunch was ready, and dividing the steaming liquid between two bowls, she carried them to the kitchen table, removing the rolls from the oven and placing them on the table as well as a pat of creamy butter from the larder.

"Enjoy." She said with a grin, taking a seat opposite him, and dipping her spoon into the steaming dark liquid, she began to eat, her rumbling stomach craving nourishment. They ate silently, occasionally raising their eyes to catch one another's, and soon the meal was finished.

"That was delicious. It had been a while since I have eaten properly."He said, wiping the last remnants of the soup that clung to the china bowl, slipping the morsel into his mouth and licking his lips like a hungry dog.

"You are most welcome." She rose to her feet, clearing the bowls and cups from the table and taking them to the sink. Returning to her seat, she sunk down heavily, her legs aching and weary. "Benjamin...tell me more about yourself."

"I...I don't know what to say Christine. I...I can't say...I...I must go...thank you for your kindness." He said, and rising quickly to his feet, he strode from the kitchen. It took a moment for Christine to register what had happen, and rising quickly to her feet, she ran after him, catching him just before her left.

"Benjamin, please don't go. I..you don't have to tell me if it is too difficult." She stepped toward him, but stopped as he turned from her, his arms stuffed full of garments, and struggling with the latch on the door, he flung it wide.

"I can't. I...good bye Christine."

**I am really sorry, but I won't be able to post an update next week as I am going on holiday (away from an Internet connect unfortunately!) but I promise that updates will return to normal when I return. Thank you for your continued support, it means a lot! :)**


	42. Chapter 42

**Just to let you know, later in this chapter, the conversation is italics is one that happened earlier in the morning. Christine is normal italics and Erik is bold italics! :)**

_Two months later_

(_Christine_)

Two months had passed, and a lot had happened in that time. The heat of summer had passed into the chill of autumn, and in the middle of October, Erik celebrated his fifty-first birthday. A quiet, simple affair, the two passed the day in the comfort of each other's arms, enjoying a stroll by the river in which they had spent so many happy hours in the summer, Christine wrapped in thick coats and furs to keep her warm, her stomach prominent through the fine wool of her garments. Unwilling to take Erik's money to spend on him, she had given him something from the heart; an embroidered pillowcase with music notes and staves and a hand drawn birthday card. But more importantly, she had shown him the extent of her love for him, scars and all.

At six months, she could no longer hide the fact that she was with child, and this new change in her body seemed to fascinate little Aimée, who at four, could not keep her little hands from Christine's rounded stomach.

"But why is your tummy so big and _fat_?" Aimée said with a giggle, and received a stern look from her older brother.

"Because I am having a baby." Christine said, lowering her eyes to the little girl's curious gaze, shooting a smile at Benjamin to assure him that she did not mind the constant questions from his sister.

"But why? How does a baby fit?" Her smooth little brow furrowed as she struggled to picture a fully grown baby inside Christine, and both she and Benjamin laughed, Christine placing her hand gently upon Aimée's head.

"Because Monsieur Erik and I love each other very much and want to share our love with another little person who…."

"But why couldn't I be that little person?" Aimée asked with a pout, interrupting Christine mid sentence, and Benjamin said reproachfully to warn her not to be so impertinent. Christine couldn't help but giggle, her hand pressed to her aching sides from having laughed so much.

"Because my little one came first, before I ever met you."

"I am most sorry my sister Christine, she seems to have forgotten her manners." Benjamin said, his cheeks a deep scarlet at the behavior of his sister. She was showing him up in front of the young woman who had done so much for them both since they had first met only several months previously.

"You do not need to apologize Benjamin. I do not mind her questions." She smiled reassuringly, and he weakly returned it, slowing his pace so that his stride matched hers. Aimée seemed to have temporarily lost interest in her blooming stomach, and skipped on ahead, kicking up the golden and brown leaves that lay in their path.

"It was very kind of Monsieur Erik to let you come out with us." He said suddenly, as they both wanted Aimée with a parental eye, making sure that she did not run off.

"It was. He is like that, always thinking of me before himself." She said, thinking before speaking so as not to say the wrong thing. She thought back to the first time when Erik had met her 'protégés'. They had arrived upon her doorstep, upon her weekly promise of aid, but it had been Erik who had answered the door. After many blushes on the side of Benjamin and sweet, childish talk upon the side of Aimée, the three people that Christine cared most about in the all the world had finally met.

"I wish that my own father was more like Monsieur Erik. _He _would never spend all day drinking or sleeping, and then beat you for the smallest mistake." He said bitterly, and Christine's heart nearly shattered.

"I…I am sorry that I cannot do anything more to help you. You know that I would, if I could…"

"No, Christine, what you do for us already is far too much. We could never expect anything else. I did not say it to seek your pity, I just think sometimes that life can be so unfair." She wanted his eyes narrow as he pictured his father, and she knew exactly how that felt. What it was like to know that no matter how hard you tried, your father would never truly love you.

"I know, Benjamin. I know." She said quietly, and grasping his hand that hung limply by his side, she squeezed it, shooting him a weak smile. He slowly raised his questioning eyes to hers, unsure at the touch of her hand, but she held it strongly, until Aimée ran to them, grasping both of their hands and pulling them to join her in playing in the leaves.

Bending as low as she could, her ankles screaming in protest, a smile plastered upon her lips, she thought back to her conversation with Erik that morning.

'_Erik, my love, I….it pains me to ask you, but may…should I say, would it be possible for me to leave you for several hours and….and go out with Benjamin and Aim__é__e?'_

'_**I cannot deny you that, my love, but I must tell you, I do not like the way that Benjamin behaves towards you?'**_

'_What…what do you mean? I don't understand. He doesn't act in any way towards me, except…'_

'_**Except that the way that he looks at you is the way that I would look at you when we first met. Can't you see Christine, he likes you.'**_

'_But I know that he likes me, just as I like him.'_

'_**That might be the case, my love, but he does not care for you the way that you care for him. He loves you Christine. It is clear upon his face that he thinks the world of you….'**_

She could not believe it. She refused to. Throwing leaves childishly at each other, she watched his face, his eyes, the way that they lingered upon her face. Her eyes. Her lips. But when she raised her eyes to his, he would look away, throw the leaves at his sister with vigor, and look anywhere but at her. There had to be another explanation. Her hands pressed tight to her back, she slowly raised herself to her feet, her ankles throbbing.

"Is everything alright Christine?" Worry etched upon his face, Benjamin stopped mid-play and rose to his feet. Shooting a look at Aimée, her arms stopped and the leaves fell slowly from her grasp.

"Yes, I am fine. Thank you. But I'm afraid I can no longer play, I…"

"That's alright. I was getting tired as well. Shall we keep walking?" He said, beckoning for Aimée to come to his side, and she skipped to him, grasping his hand tight.

"I…I think that it would be best that I go home now. I do not want to spoil your day. You and Aimée have fun together without me." She said, smiling at the pair, one hand moving to the swell of her stomach as their child moved restlessly within her.

"No Christine, please. It wouldn't be the same without you. We want you to stay with us." With his free hand, he reached for her hand, holding it tight within his own, unwilling to let her go. It was…almost possessive, the way that he was holding her.

"Yes, please Christine. Please please please please please _please _Christine." Aimée piped up, her voice high and childish, and with a sigh, she resigned herself.

"Alright, alright, I will stay. But I can't walk too quickly."

"That's alright, we can walk slowly too, as long as you're here." He said with a grin, and placing an arm around her waist with the pretence of supporting her, they started to walk. As they got deeper into the woods, there was less spacing between the trees and the foliage became denser. The weak autumn sunlight struggled through the gaps in the trees and cast faint light upon their figures.

"You're _sooooo_ slow. I can't walk like this anymore." Said Aimée with all the emphasis that a four year old could muster and turning on her heel, she shot off ahead into the distance.

"Aimée! Wait!" Christine called, her hands cupping her mouth, calling desperately to halt the fleeing figure as she moved out of sight.

"Don't worry Christine, she will be alright." Benjamin said, his hand straying up her back and rubbing between her shoulder blades. Her face fell.

"Benjamin, I…" She said slowly, but was interrupted by him before she could continue.

"Shh Christine, it's alright." He said, and guided her to continue walking.

"Benjamin, I…I think that I can manage on my own."

"Nonsense. Not in your condition."

"Please Benjamin, I can manage." She said, raising her voice, and his hands moved from her body suddenly as if her body was as hot as fire, his eyes wide in surprise.

"I..I'm sorry." She said, her eyes trained upon the uneven ground beneath their feet to avoid his intense gaze.

"No…no I am sorry. I was…never mind." He said, and walked on a step ahead of her. For a while they walked in silence, his back to her, as her mind spun. She could not settle upon one thought. Images of her beloved morphed to become Benjamin.

Pre-occupied, she didn't see the stone within her path and stepping upon it, her ankle went from beneath her and she slipped, landing heavily upon her side, her ankle twisted beneath her weight. She cried out in pain, causing Benjamin to turn. When he saw her collapsed upon the floor, he rushed to her side, calling out to her.

"My god Christine, what happened?" He crouched down beside her, his brazen fingers moving aside the material of her gown to expose her stockinged and booted leg to the knee, his fingers lingering upon her flesh.

"I…I think that I've twisted my ankle." She said, swallowing back the wave of nausea that threatened to consume her, wincing at the feel of his insistent fingers.

"Do you think that you could stand?"

"I'll try." She said, and looping his arm beneath her arm-pit, her rose her to her feet, her body leant heavily, their faces inches apart. She could feel his eyes upon her, tracing her face, and her eyes settling upon his, he closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to hers.

Instantly she pushed him away, struggling away from him. Erik had been right. If only she had listened to him.

"Christine, what are you doing? I love you Christine. You must know that. I love you."He clutched at her, pulling her closer to his chest, but she pushed with all of her might, his touch repulsive.

"Get away from me. You…you disgust me. How could you? How could you do it? Betray my trust like that?" She said, pushing herself from him and limping from him, struggling through the bolts of pain that shot through her ankle and leg as she pressed her weight upon her injured ankle.

The tears streaming down her cheeks, her hair wild and across her face, she limped from him with as much speed as she could muster, shooting a look over her shoulder to watch him as he stood motionless upon the spot. He was another Raoul, desperate to have her as his own.

"Oh Erik, Erik. I was wrong. Forgive me, my love. I should never have spent so much time and effort upon him. I should have known. I have been such a fool." So deeply was she absorbed in her silent prayer as she struggled futilely to escape, she did not see him approach silently behind her, his arms outstretched to grab her from behind. Lunging for her, his force knocked her over, and with a sickening crunch, her head hit the ground, the light flickering from her eyes. Seeing the blood pool beneath her forehead, and with a pounding heart, Benjamin ran away, leaving her lying, defenseless, in the midst of the forest.

**So….that was unexpected! Thank you for reading! **


	43. Chapter 43

(_Erik)_

Pacing the floor of the library, his hands clasped tight behind his back, he strode back and forth upon the rug, wearing it thin. His eyes straying to the wide French windows, he saw that the day was drawing in, and the light was beginning to fade. Tugging his pocket-watch from the breast pocket of his jacket, he growled audibly in annoyance and anger; the time was now four o'clock and there was still no sign of Christine. It was not that he was angry at his Christine, far from it, for he could never blame her for anything. No, it was that boy. Benjamin. He growled at the thought of the boy, sickened at the thought that his Christine was out with him when she should be here with him. But he had allowed her to go out. He had to restrain himself from flinging his pocket watch into the empty fire place.

'Relax Erik, she will be alright. He cares deeply for her, and thus he will keep her safe. You have no need to fear for her safety.' He repeated the thought to himself like a mantra, to keep himself from going mad- or at least from descending further into the depths of insanity.

'I must do something, anything to take my mind off of this torment.' He growled in frustration, turning swiftly upon his heel and nearly slipping upon the Persian rug beneath his feet. Storming from the room, he padded through the house, his footsteps silent until he reached his sanctuary; his private music room. Seating himself within at his desk, he seized his quill and a piece of parchment and, dipping his pen into the pot of blood red ink, he sat with his hand poised above the paper. Nothing. The thoughts of melodies within his head had vanished. He could not concentrate when faced with the sketches of Christine that lay scattered upon his desk and pinned to the walls; when she lay asleep in his bed, sat unaware with a book in her hand, her smile, her wide eyes...There was no way that he could just sit and do nothing constructive. He needed to get out there and find them, bring her home where she belonged and tell that boy what he really thought of him. The thought that he did not know where they would be never crossed his mind.

xXx

(_Christine_)

The light hurt. Seeping through the slit of her eyelids, they slowly fluttered open. She shut them quickly at the intensity of the glare, her head pounding. Squeezing her lids shut tight, she opened them slowly, her eyes eventually adjusting to the sight before her. The ground, or more specifically soil and small chips of rock. With little feeling in her arms, she struggled to sit up slowly, her head throbbing. Raising her hand weakly, as if it were made of jelly, she pressed her fingertips to her temple and drew them back quickly. They were sticky with her blood, which had congealed and clung to her fingers. The sole thought that she had within her head was the need to get home, to be within Erik's arms.

On weak, shaky legs, she slowly raised herself to her feet, taking small, cautious steps, not knowing which direction to go in, her heart calling out to her beloved to guide her. It was then that she became conscious of the stickiness between her legs, and leaning heavily upon a tree trunk to support her, she looked down...and saw a bloodstain upon the cream skirt of her gown. She couldn't breathe. She knew that bleeding during pregnancy meant that something was seriously wrong. Struggling to regain her breath and calm her ragged breathing, the tears ran steadily and continuously down her cheeks as she pushed away from the tree, swaying upon her feet, knowing the she needed to get home.

She recalled the last memory that she held; walking in the woods with Benjamin and Aimée, talking with the former whilst the latter skipped and ran on ahead. So where were they? She pressed her hand to her pounding head, a wave of nausea overcoming her.

"Help me. Please, somebody, help me." She called, her voice a mere whisper through the throbbing in her head and the cramp in her lower stomach.

She couldn't see through the torrent of tears, and so failed to notice the exposed root. Catching her foot underneath it, she stumbled and fell flat upon her hands, feeling the stones and debris dig into the squishy flesh of her hand. She was lost, alone and for all she knew, she was about to lose their child.

xXx

(_Erik_)

"Christine? Christine?" He called urgently, cupping his hand to his porcelain lips. By now, the light was fading, and he had walked for miles. Finding himself in the depths of the forest, his eyes, which had grown accustomed to the dark from his many years of solitude, scanned his surrounding for any indication that his angel was nearby.

"Someone help me. Please, help me." His heightened sense of hearing caught the whisper of the plea, and with a gasp of realisation, he put a face to the desperate voice. Christine.

"Christine, my love. It is I, Erik. I am coming my love." He called, rambling, thankful that he had found her at last. But the urgency and desperation of her tone caused him to fear. Something terrible had happened, he could sense it.

Running through the trees to the origin of the voice, he saw before him a sight which made his heart pound and his face blanch beneath his mask in horror. Sprawled upon the floor, her arms crushed beneath her, his beloved lay, her hair spread about her head and knotted with leaves and dirt.

"Christine. Oh Christine. Whatever happened to you?" He cried, running to her and crouching by her side, he cupped the back of her head and rolled her gently so that she lay upon her back. Sliding his arms under her knees and beneath her shoulder blades, he raised her up into his arms, rising to his full height carefully.

"My God Christine, what happened?" He said, noting with horror the congealed wound upon her forehead crusted with dirt.

"I...I don't know. All I can remember is walking with Benjamin and Aimée and then...nothing. I...Erik I...I think I've lost our baby." She tried to raise her head weakly from his chest to see his comforting golden orbs, but it was too much for her weak body to stand the effort, and she collapsed back against him.

"Christine?" He breathed, overcome with emotion, his eyes settling upon the stain that had spread across the fine material of her gown, which was now ripped and dirtied, her blood prominent against the pale fabric. What had he done to her? He had allowed her to go out, knowing that the boy loved her, but never thinking that it could end like this.

"I...I've bled. And I such a bad cramp in my lower stomach...I'm so sorry Erik. I.." The tears choked her, and swallowing the lump in her throat, the tears continued to fall from her closed lids, smearing the dirt upon her cut cheeks, her wet lashes clumping

"Shhh my love. It will be alright. I'm sure that our child will be alright. I'll take you home, my angel, and we shall find a doctor." He said calmly to soothe her fears whilst he raged internally. If she had really lost their child, when he found that _boy, _he would make him pay for it with his own blood.

He strode quickly with his precious cargo clasped tight within his arms, his eyes trained upon her. They were soon back at their home, and transferring Christine from his arms into the small carriage, he bridled the horses with the speed of lightning, and seizing the reins, lashed them into action, their hooves pounding against the hard dirt.

"It will be alright Christine, it will be. I promise it." He whispered, caressing her dirty cheek as the horses thundered down the road on the way into town. She needed a midwife. The cut on her forehead would not kill her, but he knew very little about secrets of carrying a child and child-birth.

Her hands cupped tight around the swell of her stomach as if to soothe the baby inside, she whined in pain, leaning heavily against Erik's side, her upper body tucked beneath the comfort of his protective arm.

Last time they had been in town, they had found the midwife's residence in case of an emergency, and Erik thanked God that they had done so. Pulling tightly upon the reins, they ground to a halt and he leapt out, gathering Christine into his arms and storming into the house.

"My wife is losing her child. Please, help her." He said desperately to the stunned middle-aged woman who sat warming herself before her fire in her small, cosy living room.

"Follow me monsieur." She said, rising to her feet, and led him up a flight of small, creaky wooden stairs, raising her heavy skirts out of the way of her hurrying, frantic feet. She crossed the landing and beckoned for him to follow her. He strode into the room, laying her upon the wide double bed with sturdy ropes tied to the four posts to aid a woman in childbirth.

"What is your name, my dear?" She said, pressing her hands to the swelling of Christine's stomach and Christine groaned in pain, her head rolling upon the pillow.

"If you will kindly wait outside Monsieur, then I will care for her."

"No, I would rather..."

"I insist. I shall call you in when I have finished my examination."She said, stepping in front of him, and with all of her 5ft 2 frame, guided him to the door.

Again he paced. Backwards and forwards upon the creaking wooden floorboards, wringing his hands in desperation. What was taking so long? He feared the worst. She had lost their child.

The door slowly opened a fraction, and the midwife stepped out, wiping her hands upon her apron.

"Tell me. Please. Is she alright? And the baby, is the baby alright?"


	44. Chapter 44

(_Erik_)

"Monsieur, your wife, she...I don't know how to say this..." She would not meet his eye, and that meant one thing. It was bad news. He clenched his fists by his side until his knuckled turned white.

"What? What is it? Tell me, what is wrong? Has she lost the child?" The words merged into one as they tripped from his tongue in his haste. He could see that she quivered as she stood before him, whether from the news that she was about to divulge, his anger or his mask, he could not tell, but desperation made the matter pale in comparison to his state of his beloved and their child.

"Your wife, she...she was carrying twins Monsieur. But, as a result of the fall, there was a rupture...I will go into details Monsieur, but the child had already passed and it was essential that it was removed or it could have fatally harmed the other child..." She trailed off, her face a picture of pity at the man that stood before her. One moment ago, so tough and strong, and now a weeping shadow of a man.

"The child...it was?" He chocked, unable to continue, and the midwife seized his hand and held it gently, comfortingly.

"A boy Monsieur. A beautiful baby boy."

"A boy." He echoed in a whisper, the tears pooling beneath his mask and dripping from the rim.

"I am sorry for your loss... I have had to sedate your wife. She was...she was panicking and it was doing no good for your remaining child. Would you care to see her? She will be sluggish, but responsive and she is doing well, considering." The corner of her lips lifted, and opening the door, she stepped inside, holding it open for Erik, who flew past her and collapsed by Christine's reclining form, his face buried in the sheets.

"My love..." He choked, raising his face to her, her face blurry through the torrent of tears, and taking her weak arm from the bed, he clutched her hand to his face, peppering with kisses from his porcelain lips.

"Erik...I am sorry." She stuttered through the lump in her throat, her voice weak.

"Shh, my love. No. Don't say that. You have nothing, _nothing _to be sorry about. This is not your fault my love."

"But it is. I should have listened to you. You said...you warned me about him, and I didn't listen, and then..." She broke off, overcome with emotion, her head lolling onto the pillow as the tears dripped silently from her chin.

"No, Christine, you cannot think that. You didn't know, no one could have known that this would happen."

"It was a boy. Our baby was a boy." She croaked, her eyes watering as she gazed into the distance at the thought of the child that that morning had been safe and secure within her, and was now lying cold and lifeless in swaddling cloths.

"I know, my angel, I know. Our precious little boy." He couldn't continue, and consumed by a sob, his head fell to his chest and he buried his face in his hands.

"We must name him Erik, I...I want to name our baby." She seized one of his hands and held it closer to her chest, biting her chapped lips to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

"Of course, my angel, of course. Do you...do you know what you wish to name him?"

"I have always dreamed of a son named...named Aurélien. I think...I think he should be named Aurélien Erik." Her voice cracked on the name, and her heart ached at the thought that she would never hold him in her arms, never comfort him when he cried or rock him to sleep. Her hands strayed to her swollen stomach to cup the child that remained within her, to protect it from the same fate as its brother.

"Aurélien Erik. Our beloved baby. He would have been beautiful Christine; I only wish that he had survived..."

"He is in the hands of God now Erik, he is safe. And we have another still, another child." Her voice became a mumble, and her eyelids fluttered.

"Monsieur, she must get some rest. She will stay here tonight, and in the morning, you may take her home." The midwife said, sweeping to Christine's side and pulling the sheets to her chin, she brushed the back of her hand across her Christine's forehead in motherly gesture.

"She is only a slight, slip of a thing Monsieur. It was too much for her body to cope." He raised his masked face to hers, and words were not needed.

"The baby...where is the baby?"

"I have him safe Monsieur. He is safe now. Tomorrow morning, I shall take him to the Priest and he shall be buried. Would you and your wife care to attend?" The caring tone of her voice soothed Erik, and from her words he sought the motherly comfort that she offered that his own mother never had.

"That is kind of you, but I think it best if Christine and I don't attend. I do not think that she, nor I, would be able to stand to see our child entered in the earth before his time."

"I understand. We shall say a prayer for you and ask God to bless your remaining child with perfect health."

"Thank you Madame, for all of your help. If you hadn't, I daren't think what would have happened..." He said, thinking of the porcelain that covered the majority of his face, and how it had blighted his life for the past 51 years.

"Don't be silly Monsieur. Your mask intrigues me, but I know that you wear it with reason, and I would never deny a woman aid." There was nothing but sincerity within her voice, and he wished that all people were as accepting of him and his face as she was.

"You are most kind."

"It is nothing. I shall leave you now, but I will make you some dinner and find you a comfortable chair to spend the night."

"I thank you from the depths of my heart, but I cannot stomach the thought of food. But perhaps a pitcher of water for Christine if she was to wake."

"But of course. I shall not be long." And with a weak smile, she swept from the room, leaving him alone with his sleeping angel. He gazed down upon her slumbering form, his heart breaking in pain- he deserved to suffer for the sins he had committed in his life, but not his angel. She didn't deserve this. To have their child taken from them before they could spend time with him and love him made him question the little faith he had in God. How could a God be so cruel as to take the life of an innocent child when there were murderers, sinners, healthy and living? It was not right.

He vowed to himself, as his eyes traced Christine's form beneath the sheets, his eyes lingering upon the swell of her stomach and the child that remained nestled within, that he would fight until the end of his days to protect Christine and their child so that she would suffer no more. Already in her short life, she known more grief than one should at so young an age. But no more. Swallowing the lump within his throat, he locked their child safe within his heart; so that every step he made, every breath he took, he was have their child with him always.

"_Aurélien_..."


	45. Chapter 45

(_Christine_)

When she woke that morning, for a split second she forgot the fact that yesterday had been the worst day of her life, and for that brief instance, she was still blissfully unaware of the fact that she was carrying twins. _Had been _carrying twins. For now that full consciousness return, the ache in her body, and her heart, brought back the loss, the pain and the horror of the previous day.

Her head rolling weakly upon the pillow, she noted with a smile the sleeping form of Erik, as he sat huddled within the low-backed armchair that had been pulled up to the side of the bed. Stretching, she winced as the stitches in her stomach pulled, and settled her arms back upon her sheet-covered stomach protectively.

A gentle tap upon the door caught her attention and pulling the sheets to her chin, she called out quietly, and within a moment, the midwife entered.

"Good morning Christine." She said quietly, glimpsing Erik asleep within the armchair.

"Good morning..." Christine replied, struggling internally to remember the name of the woman who had done so much to help.

"Eloise, my dear. Do not worry, you have more important things to think of than my name." She said with a weak smile, and an emotional Christine felt herself near to tears at the kindness of the woman...Eloise.

"What..what time is it?" She asked, struggling to sit up in bed, cringing at the pain in her lower stomach, and Eloise rushed to her side, locking her arms under Christine's to help her up.

"Nearing eleven." She said, smiling gently at the look upon Christine's face. "My dear, do not worry. You needed rest, and so did your husband, apparently."

"Eloise...where..where is my baby? Where is Aurélien?"

"He is in the hands of God, Christine." Erik interjected, and turning her head slowly, she watched him stretch within the confines of the seat like an octopus in a box; all long limbs.

"I know, Erik. But...I want to see my baby, our baby. I want to see him."

"You cannot Christine."

"I need to see him Erik, just one time and only briefly." The thought of their baby, their beloved son, cold and lonely without his parents love made her heart weep. How she longed to hold his warm, living body safe within her arms.

"I shall leave you two and make you something to eat. You must eat to keep up your strength and recovery, for the sake of your other child." Eloise said, and her eyes lingering upon the lost, blanched form of Christine within the expanse of sheets, she slipped from the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

His eyes watching the midwife retreat, waiting for her to leave, her close the distance between them and settled himself carefully upon the edge of the bed. Grasping her cold hand within his own skeletal fingers, he clasped it to his porcelain cheek.

"My love, I must tell you. This morning, Eloise and Father Albert buried our son..."

"No! Why didn't you tell me before? _They_ buried our son? We should have been there." She cried, interrupting Erik, her jaw dropping open as her hands twisted limply in the sheets.

"No, Christine, we shouldn't. It would only have upset you more."

"We should have been there. We have betrayed him. He will think that we do not love him." Shaking her head, her thick heavy curls swishing with the movement, she lowered her head so that her curtain of hair could hide the tears that spilled from eyes.

"He would never think that Christine. He is with God now, watching us from his crib, guarded by the angels."

She was silent for a long time, watching him, feeling the tears rise beneath her lids, and withdrawing her hand from his, she seized his hand and pressed it to her lips in a silent gesture of acceptance, and love.

"You are right Erik. I could not bear seeing him, our baby, cold and blue in my arms. I... I can console myself with the knowledge that he would be treated with love and care by them..." Her voice broke off in a sob, and she pressed her fingers to her lips to quell the wave of unstoppable grief that would consume her.

Rising, he settled himself upon the bed, his legs spread wide, and guided her into the space between his legs so that she lay propped against his chest, his hands resting atop of hers as they cupped her stomach. Pushing her curls to one side, he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin behind her ear, his twisted lips lingering against her silken skin.

"It's eating me up inside, my love, knowing that our baby, our son, died before his time. The future looks bleak, but through it all, I know that I have you, and that we still have a child safe within you. And I know that we can never replace Aurélien, but we will have more children, my love, I promise you. He will never be forgotten."

"Never." She vowed, nestling her head in the crook of her neck. Their private moment was broken by a gently knocking on the door, and a moment later, Eloise entered, her cheeks flushed, carrying a tray laden with food stuffs.

" This is food is for the both of you, although you must eat something substantial Christine to aid your body in its recover and for the sake of your other child. But I must leave you to depart on your own as I have been summoned to act as midwife at another birth. I shall visit you in two weeks to remove your stitches and check up on you. If you ever need me, send for me and I will come." She said, entering the room, and laying the tray upon the bedside table, she stepped to Christine's side and brushed her fingers across the curve of Christine's profile gently. "Take care."

"Thank you so much for your help." Both Erik and Christine said, her voice cracking as she spoke. Rising from the bed, Erik reached within his pocket and drew out a wad of notes, selected a few from the wad, and pressed them into her palm.

"Thank you." She whispered, her eyes scanning Erik's porcelain face without fear. Turning her attention to Christine, she shifted a wrapped item from her arm and laid it across the foot of the bed. "Within is a dress that you may wear home. Your other has been...disposed of."

"Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, my dears. May God be with you." And with her eyes lingering upon the pair, she slowly retreated from the room, the sound of her footsteps as she walked quickly down the creaking stairs audible in the silence of the room.

Turning to face her, his eyes glimmered. "Come on my love. Let's go home."

**I am so sorry that this chapter was so short, but I have had 3 really important exams this week, and I had hardly any time to myself, let alone to write. But I couldn't leave all of you, my dear readers, waiting. Next week, I'll have more time to myself, so I promise that it will be better. And things will get better for Christine and Erik, I swear! **


	46. Chapter 46

(_Erik_)

Like a rag doll, he gathered her into his arms, and propping her up against his solid frame, fumbled with the ties of the gown that Eloise had provided, slipping it over her head as she weakly raised her arms, the soft cotton material falling and settling around her slim frame. Guiding her to raise herself to her knees, her pulled the material down around her ankles, and slipping his arms under her knees, her tucked her close his chest, seizing the blanket from the bed and wrapping it tight around her.

"Erik...I want our baby." She cried, her voice muffled by Erik's thick clothing, and he clutched her closer to him.

"I know, my love, I know. I wish that he were here with us, but he is gone now, to a better place." He said softly, his eyes settling upon the crown of her head, her wild curls like a halo around her heavenly face.

"Why can't he be here with us? Why did he have to go? Why?...why did it happen to us, Erik? What have we done wrong?" She cried bitterly, her hands grasping the lapels of Erik's shirt to stop the tremor in her hands.

"I don't know, my angel. I just don't know. I cannot explain it, no one can. It's not fair, but what is fair in life? We have done nothing wrong, and I do not want you to believe that this because of something that you have done." He whispered, reaching behind him to close the door on the worst moment of their lives, and slowly, he descended the stairs, his precious bundle pressed close to his chest to protect her from the bumpy movement of his steps.

Without pausing to dwell upon the place where so horrible an event had occurred, they stepped out into the weak, late morning sunshine, Erik pressing the blanket tighter around Christine to keep her warm from the chill breeze.

With a sigh of relief, he closed the short distance to their carriage with his long stride, thankful that it, along with the horses, had survived the night, the aforementioned beasts currently nibbling on tufts of grass and weeds that sprouted between the cobbles of the street.

Bending, he transferred Christine from the sanctuary of his arms and settled her gently agains the plush cushioned interior, striding to the other side and climbing in beside her. Seizing the reins, he jerked them, and the horses began to move.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Christine's eyelids begin to drift shut with the gentle movement of the horses, and placing his arm protectively around her slim shoulders, he drew her close to his solid form so that lay, nestled, against him.

xXx

(_Christine_)

She was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. For there, before her, was Aurélien, their beloved son.

"My baby." She cooed, stretching out her hand to him, to touch his face; those chubby cheeks and plump little limbs like over-stuffed sausages, wrapped in baby swaddling. With a gasp she noted that his face was perfect. Ever since they had found out that she was itn child, they had feared (Erik in particular) that their child would inherit his deformity. But no. Their son was perfect.

Before her eyes, he grew. He became a toddler, his soft, sparse raven growing thicker and longer so that they reached his chin, his golden eyes wide and searching as his mouth worked like a goldfish, working around the sound and shape of the vowels.

"Ma..mama. Mama." He stuttered, the sound of his baby voice make her heart weep.

"Mamma's here. Mamma's here Aurélien. Look, look at mamma." She called desperately, stretching with all of her might to reach her baby. But before her fingers touched his silken skin, he changed again, and now, before her, was a boy.

A child no longer, but about 10 years of age, his long, lean frame was on the brink of unhealthy, yet she knew that this natural slimness from a trait he inherited from his father. His raven curls fell to the nape of his neck, and flopped upon his forehead, falling into his eyes. She smiled, tears in her eyes and the boy before her.

But before she could dwell upon his features, he morphed, his outline blurring, and now before her stood a young man, with chiselled jaw and molten irises, his frame fuller and muscled. Dressed in the height of fashion, his tall frame emanated power and strength. But beneath the curls that spiralled widely upon his forehead, his eyes were the image of kindness and compassion.

"Aurélien, Aurélien. It's your mother. Aurélien, can you hear me? Your such a wonderful young man, I wish that I could talk to you, that you could hear me. I want to be able it hold you, my son, to tell you how proud I am of you." She choked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Christine. Christine." A voice called, and before her eyes, their son, their beloved Aurélien began to fade.

"No! Aurélien! Come back. Please, come back. Your mother needs you." She called desperately, pounding her fists against the invisible glass wall that separated her from her son.

"Goodbye mother."

"Nooooo." With a jolt, she was brought back to reality, her eyes snapping open.

"Christine? Christine, is everything alright? You were crying." He said, cupping her chin in one hand, and with his thumb, wiping away the tears that gathered upon her lower lid.

"I had a dream, Erik. I...I saw Aurélien. He...he grew before me Erik. He...he was a handsome young man...he had your eyes. He was perfect." She broke off, biting her lower lip to stop it from trembling.

"Oh my love. Shhh, don't cry." He cooed, stroking her hair as she buried her face in his shoulder. With a gasp, he understood the full extent of her words. Their son had not inherited his face. With a smile upon his lips, pressed a porcelain kiss to the curls at her crown. "Of course he was handsome, my angel, for he is our son, and with a mother as gorgeous as you, how could he not be?" He said, and with a note of satisfaction, she raised her face and gave him a weak smile.

Resting her head upon his shoulder, she gazed out the window as the countryside rolled by. Suddenly, without warning, the horses reared violently, steering away from an unseen obstacle, their hooves sounding loudly as they struck the cold, hard ground. Jolted from their seats, they fell forward, Erik acting like a barrier to protect Christine from striking the front of the carriage, his ribs colliding with the hard metal. Struggling to a sitting position, Erik guided Christine back against the cushioned interior.

"Are you alright Christine?" Erik asked worriedly, his eyes straying to Christine's stomach.

"I'm fine Erik, thank you. But what was that?" She asked, wigging in the seat to get comfortable, tucking the blanket back tight around herself.

"I do not know, but I shall go and investigate." He said, and climbing down from the carriage, he walked around to the now stationary horses, pressing his hand against their steamy flank. The reason for their surprise became evident, for there, huddled upon the ground, was a bundle of dirty white fluff. Squatting upon the ground, he gathered the thing into his hands...and much to his surprise, it moved its' little head and began to mew.


	47. Chapter 47

(Erik)

Running his finger down the knobbly spine of the little, dirty kitten, it mewled softly, nuzzling its soft head into the flesh of his palm, and his hardened black heart melted at the sight. He, like this kitten, had once between abandoned, down trodden and out in the cold alone. But no more. This kitten, like him, would have a loving home, someone who cared for it and treated it in a way that it deserved.

"Erik, what was it?" Christine called from within the carriage, and the little bundle of fluff squirmed within his grasp.

"Shh little one. Stay still. It's alright." He cooed in a whisper to the kitten, watching as it turned its face to his, and he saw with a gasp that its eyes were the brightest shade of aqua blue.

"It's a kitten Christine. The poor little thing needs love and attention." He replied, rising slowly to his feet, his precious bundle safe within the cup of his hands. Climbing back into the interior of the carriage, he opened his hands, proffering the little creature out to Christine. Obligingly, it uncurled for its scrunched position and stretched itself, bearing its' sharp little teeth.

"Oh Erik. It's soo sweet." She cooed, hold out her open hands flat, so that her fingers rested beneath Erik's raised the heel of his hand and the kitten crawled slowly into Christine's, settling it's little body into the curve of her palm. "Can we keep it Erik?" She raised her face hopefully to his, her eyes shining with hope.

"But of course Christine. It was alone on the roadside, with no indication of a home or owner, and judging by its dirty coat and malnourished, bony frame, it appears in need of care, something that you can provide."

"I can, Erik. My heart is so full of love that I have plenty to spare for this little dear thing." She lowered her head face to the kitten, watching as it stretched out its little paws and clawed at the woollen material of the blanket around Christine's weakened form.

"Let us go home then, my love, and we can bathe the kitten, for it appears in need of a good wash." He said, a smile tugging at her lips, raising her hands close to her heaving breast, to her heart, to the place that ached for the loss of their child.

"We must name him Erik." She said after a moment, drawing her attention away from the little creature that had become dependent upon her.

"Well, what do you suggest Christine?" His eyes turning from the road, and the horses that trotted steadily along the path, his gaze torn between his wife and their newfound pet.

She was silent for a long moment, pondering the thought. After a while, her lip tight between her teeth, she raised her eyes to Erik's.

"Perhaps...well, I was thinking, perhaps we could name him Aurélien?" She broke off, falling silent, matching his own loss for words. What was he to say to that? His wife, his beloved Christine, wanted to name a cat after their child. What could she be thinking?

"Christine...are you sure that that is a wise idea. You do know that this is not our son, don't you?" He asked anxiously, his eyes trained upon her face, fear in his eyes at the thought that his Christine was disillusioned that she believed that their son had returned to them in the feline form.

"I know that Erik, I do. But don't you see, this is a sign from God, and from our beloved son. We found this little creature when we most needed something to partly patch the whole that has been left in our hearts by his loss. This kitten is our son telling us that everything is alright." She said with a smile as a great revelation had been made, and it made Erik's heart break. He could not tell her that she was wrong, that it was purely coincidence that this had happened and that it had nothing to do with their son. He knew that it would be better to let her have her fantasy, to think that, so that she may lock away her grief and move on, but yet never forget.

"If you say so, my love. But...I'm afraid that our kitten is a girl." Beneath his porcelain mask, a small smile tugged at his lips at the thought. At least it meant that they would not have to face each day with a feline version of their son.

"Oh. Well...perhaps Aura then?"

"Aura it is then." He said with a note of finality, and leaning over, he pressed a lingering porcelain kiss to the curls at Christine's forehead, his hand pressed to her cheek tenderly.

They continued in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts, and it wasn't long before they arrived home.

"I'll drop you here, my love. You will be alright seeing yourself in whilst I stable the horses, wont you?" He asked, leaping down from the carriage and gliding around to the other side to offer her his steady hand.

"I shall be fine, thank you. But do not be long, I will miss you." She seized his hand and lowered herself to terra firma, the kitten clutched close to her chest with one hand.

"Christine...I would advise that we bathe the kitten first before you hold it too close. We do not know if it has a disease or fleas. You must think of our baby." He said, his eyes narrowing at the close proximity of the kitten to Christine's bare flesh, his fingers itching to stretch out and seize the creature from her.

"How could you say that? I think of nothing but our baby, our babies." Tears welling beneath her lids, she turned on her heel and ran to the door, her fingers fumbling with the secret lock, pressing the door slowly shut behind her and leaning heavily against the solid wood.

"Little Aura, be thankful you do not know what it is to grieve, to lose someone before you truly knew them." She whispered, the tips of her fingers caressing spot between Aura's ears, and she purred in delight at the touch.

"Shall we go and bathe you? We won't wait for Erik will we, he doesn't deserve to be near you the way that he just acted, does he? No he doesn't." She said, smiling at little Aura through her tears, and walking slowly upstairs, she entered her bathroom and settled her upon the floor, watching with delight and she curled up, tucking her front paws beneath her head and lay watching Christine through half-closed eyes.

Smiling at the kitten, she reached over the tub, and placing the plug in the whole, turned the taps. Watching the water fill the porcelain tub, transfixed by the motion of the liquid, she dipped her hand in and swirled, ensuring that it wasn't too hot.

When a small depth of water lined the bottom of the tub, she turned off the taps and shook in a quantity of rose bath salts.

"You'll smell lovely, little one, won't you?" She said, gathering the kitten into her hands, and pressed her nose to Aura's, a smile upon her lips, rubbing her nose in an Eskimo kiss.

Placing Aura into the bath, she watched with delight as she splashed in the water, thankful that she was not like other cats, as she had heard that they hated water and she had imaged having to struggle to wash the kitten.

"Do you like that, Aura? It's nice, isn't it?" Seizing the bar of sweet scented soap, she lather it between her hands and rubbed the bubbled gently into Aura's fur in a gently circular motion, her little blue eyes closing in delight.

"Christine, you should not be talking to a kitten. It is not healthy. I sincerely doubt if she can hear you, let alone comprehend you." Erik said, stepping into the doorway of her bathroom and crouching down, he settled himself beside her.

"Well, it's not doing any harm, is it? If I want to talk to Aura, I will. It...makes me feel better. If I can talk to this little kitten, then it distracts me from the grief that is eating me up inside." She said, refusing to meet Erik's intense gaze, her eyes trained upon Aura as she splashed about in the dirty, soapy water.

"Why don't you talk to me?" He said slowly, rising to his feet, and pulled the plug from the bath, the grimy water swirling around the plug hole as it emptied down the drain.

She did not have an answer for that. She couldn't explain why she couldn't. It just...it was easier talking to an animal because they could never talk back to her, challenge her, push her to say things that she didn't want to. She could pour forth everything that she had bottled inside, and all Aura would do is purr.

Taking Aura from the bath, Erik settled her in the gap between them upon the fluffy mat, her sharp little claws become caught in the strands of cotton.

"Christine, my love, you know that you can tell me anything. Whatever it is that you are feeling, just speak. It does not even have to make sense; a babble of noise would be fine if it helps. I just want you to know that I am here for you, my love. Always."

"Oh Erik, I am sorry. I am sorry..." She said, lowering her eyes from his, shaking her curls loose from their weak binding so that they curtained her face.

"Christine." Reaching his hands beneath her curls, he cupped her face between his palms and raised her face so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes. Slowly, tentatively, he ran the tip of his thumb across her plump lower lip, and with a quivering sigh, closed the gap between them and pressed his porcelain lips to hers.

With impatient, scrambling fingers, she reached up to his face and removed his mask, with desperation but care to ensure that it didn't hurt him, quickly closing the distance between them, and locked her lips with his. She flung her arms around his neck, pulling his close, needing him to be near her, to consume her, to take away the pain and replace it with his love. His lips moved from her lips to her jaw, nibbling her silken flesh until his teeth clasped the soft lobe of her ear; a deep growl resonating within his chest as his hands frantically skimmed her outline from her shoulders, down the side of the swell of her chest to her round, hard stomach...

And that's when they heard it. The doorbell.


	48. Chapter 48

**I'm really sorry that I didn't post last week, but I've been (and still am) ill and I've got really important final exams coming up, so my life has been pretty hectic at the moment. After they're over, I'll have plenty of time to work on this and keep you entertained! Thank you for sticking with me! :)**

"Ignore it." He growled into her ear, seizing her fleshly between his teeth and biting gently, and she pressed her hands weakly against his chest in protest, her heart telling her to embrace his passion, but her head saying to answer the bell. And with a sigh of protest, her head won the battle.

"Erik, please. I...I think we should answer that. It might be important. Erik, please..."She struggled to keep her voice steady, overcoming with a wave of sensation as Erik's skilful lips worked upon her neck and he grunted in answer.

"Erik, really. We must stop." Collecting her senses, she pushed firmer against his chest and her heart ached to see the hurt, rejected look upon his face.

"If it is anything but vitally important you shall not be able to refrain me from strangling who ever stands the other side of our door." His words punctuated the air like bullets, his chest heaving as he struggled to suppress the wave of pleasure that had built inside him, running his hand through the wisps of his hair.

Christine seized his hand, pressing it to her lips, her eyes telling betraying her passion, and he guided her to her feet. It was then that she heard the faint mewling of the little creature in their care.

"Oh Aura, little one, I nearly forgot you. How silly of me." She said, a smile upon her lips, and she crouched down, gathering the little wet bundle of fluff within her hands. The kitten meowed and rubbed its' silken head against Christine's wrist.

"We must dry you little one, or shall get a cold." Raising her eyes to Erik for him to get a towel, she cuddled Aura and stroked her gently while waiting, accept the fluffy cotton hand-towel from Erik with a smile of thanks. "Here we go. Isn't that nice." She rubbed the kitten's fur gently, laughing at the sight of the little creature, her snow white hair standing on end and falling in her eyes.

"Come on, let's go and see who's at the door." Christine said, to both Aura and Erik, and locking her hand safely within his, they walked downstairs, Erik drawing his mask from his inner-pocket, and pressing it to his face, the sound of the doorbell still ringing within their ears.

"I'm coming." Christine called, struggling with one hand to contain the kitten close to her chest, and fiddling with the lock, Erik's hand tight within her, she opened the door...to reveal Benjamin standing on the doorstep.

"It's you." Erik roared, and Christine had to fling out her arm to prevent Erik from launching himself at him.

"Please, let me explain. I...I want to apologize, I know that..." He started, his face pale and pained as his hand reached out to touch Christine's fingers where they rested on the open door, but she moved them away before they could connect. Looking into the pastel eyes of their kitten, she set her upon the ground, watching as she scampered across the hallway, her heels clicking upon the marble, and slipped to safety into the library.

"You know nothing, _nothing._ You do not deserve to see my wife, let alone breathe the same air as her. You are worthless, and if it weren't for her stopping me now, you would no longer be standing."

Benjamin turned his eyes to Christine, his eyes wide and pleading. "Christine, please let me explain. I never...I never meant to hurt you."

"That is enough. You should be thankful that we do not report you to the police. Now be gone, before I do something I might regret." Erik's eyes glistened menacingly, the hard contours of his mask making him appear even more frightening, and Christine squeezed his hand, noting the look of terror upon the boy's face.

"Erik...let him explain."

"Christine, no, he does not deserve your time." His eyes turned from Benjamin to Christine, softening when they settled upon her heavenly face.

"I...I want to hear him explain himself. I need to know why he did it." She needed to know. In those long moments when her aching heart called for their lost child, she could think upon the boy who had caused them so much pain and in her darkest moments wish the pain and suffering upon him.

"Fine, then you shall. Go on then, _boy_, explain why you did it. Why you ran away and left my wife alone in the forest to die."

"I...I don't have an explanation. I don't know why. I...I panicked...but...but as soon as I left, I knew that I should have helped Christine, but I'm a coward, and...and..." He stuttered, his eyes roving from Christine to Erik, struggling to think of something to explain his actions, his knees quaking at the sight of Erik's eyes behind his mask.

"You...you..."  
"Shh Erik. Do not upset yourself, it is not worth it." Christine rubbed Erik's arms through the material of his fine garment, attempting to soothe his frayed nerves, worrying at the affect of the stress upon his health.

After a moment, his narrowed eyes burning a hole through Benjamin, he slowly continued. "Tell him, Christine."

Rounding her attention from Erik, her eyes slowly settled upon her old friend. "I lost my child, Benjamin. I...I was carrying twins, and we lost one. Our son, I miscarried him because of you. Because you..." The tears welled beneath her lids, and she broke off, unable to continue.

"My God Christine, I didn't know, I..."  
"No, you didn't know, because you ran off and left her. If you'd stayed and helped her, our son would have still been here. And he deserved life more than you. _He _should be here instead of you..." Erik interrupted, placing his arm protectively around Christine's wait and pulling her to him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I..."

"Please, Benjamin, just go...I don't want to see you again."

"But Christine, please. I can't live without seeing you." In his desperation, he stepped close to her and seizing her hand before she could stop him, pressed it to his lips. She pulled her hand from him immediately, her hand fisting in the material of her gown to prevent herself from lashing out.

"Goodbye Benjamin."

"No, I can't Christine..."  
"Just go..." Erik roared, and floundering for a moment like a rabbit caught in the light, he turned on his heel and fled, looking back over his shoulder, his eyes locking with Christine.

Once he was certain that he was out of sight, Erik shut the door and locked it, gathering Christine tight within his arms, her wet faced pressed into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry my love. I wish that you hadn't had to deal with that." He pressed his masked face to the curls at her crown, deeply inhaling the sweet scent of her, his strong body quaking beneath his clothing at the emotion that raged through his veins.

"It's not your fault Erik. I just wish that I'd listened to you. I wish I'd never seen his face, and then our baby would have still been here with us."

"I know, my angel, I know. By God, I wish we had never opened that door."

**I'm really sorry that that was so short, but my head is pounding and I can hardly concentrate, but I didn't want to go another week without posting. Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it! :)**


	49. Chapter 49

_Two weeks later..._

(_Christine_)

"Eloise, it is good to see you." Erik said warmly, stepping forward to proffer his hand in greeting, and switching her large canvas bag to her other hand, grasped his hand, holding it tight.

"And you Monsieur. And how are you, Christine?" She asked, her eyes settling upon Christine as she stood, tucked slightly behind Erik's imposing frame, her hands resting upon the swell of her stomach.

"I am well, thank you." She replied simply, forcing a smile both for the sake of Eloise and Erik. Every day, it was getting harder and harder. How could she continue with the pain and loss that welled inside her every time their child moved inside of her? She could not take happiness from the signals of their child, for every time, she could think of nothing but Aurélien.

"I think it best if I examine Christine alone." Eloise said, her eyes trained upon Erik as his eyes hardened beneath his mask. "Do not worry, Monsieur, you wife will be perfectly safe. I shall not be doing anything to harm her."

"Still, I would rather not leave her. It is not that I don't trust you, Madame..."

"Eloise, please." She interrupted, a smile upon her lips, wishing for the cold, distant man to relax around her and lower his walls.

"..Eloise, but I do not want to..."

"Erik, please. It will not be for long, and I think it best if you wait outside."Christine said, her eyes wide and pleading, seeking to reassure him. Since the loss of their baby, he had kept an even closer eye upon her, refusing to let her out of his sight for the slightest moment.

He was silent for a moment, thinking upon the matter, his piercing eyes scanning her angelic face. "If you wish it to be so."

"Thank you Erik. I shall see you soon." She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his porcelain cheek, lingering for a moment in the comfort of his presence.

"If you would lead the way, Christine." Eloise said, placing her hand gently upon Christine's arm, and with her eyes lingering upon Erik, she turned and led Eloise upstairs, leaving Erik to stand alone in their entrance hall.

He could not settle. He paced the hall, his hands clasped tight behind his back until his hands lost sensation, and growling in frustration, he massaged his hands, the sound of his heels resonating around the spacious hall. The thought of his Christine being poked and prodded made him shudder. He should be there, holding her hand, keep her safe. She shouldn't have to suffer through it alone.

'I must do something to distract myself, or I shall I go insane.' He thought, and then with a smile upon his twisted lips, he chocked upon the thought that he would go _more _insane, for he already deserved to be locked away in an asylum.

Lost in his thoughts, he strode into the library, and seizing a random book from the shelf, opened the covers to a random spot. Desperate to find something to distract himself with, his eyes scanned the scripted font upon the page, yet his brain found a way to transform every word into a link to Christine; the word 'the sun' would conjure images of the golden hues of Christine's hair that glimmered as they sat together in the sunshine. With a snarl of anger, he slammed the book shut, watching the dust motes that rose from the book dance in the ray of sunlight that poured the wide French windows.

As he stood in silence, his chest heaving as he struggled to contain the emotion that raged through his veins, he heard the sound of footsteps upon the stairs. Slotting the book back upon the shelf, he glided to the entrance hall, waiting like a puppy at the bottom of the stairs for its mistress.

"Christine." He called softly, watching as she descended the stairs, supported by Eloise.

"Erik." She replied, the sound of his name falling from her lips like honey, and he quivered at the sound.

"Is everything alright. Is the baby okay?" He said, panic in his tone, as Christine reached the bottom step. He seized her hand, holding her close to him, until Eloise had reached the floor.

"The baby is fine. It appears to be healthy and developing well." Eloise said, her professional capacity reassuring soothing Erik's nerves. Until their child was born, it was the most that they could hope for.

"Is there anything that Christine can do to...ensure the survival of our child?" He asked solemnly, his eyes briefly meeting Eloise's before settling upon the glossy patent leather of his shoes.

"She must not exert herself and she must ensure that she gets plenty of bed rest." She replied, her eyes flicking between Erik and Christine, a look of motherly affection within her eyes although she could have been no older than Erik.

All three were silent for a moment, thinking about the child that had passed and the one that remained. After a moment, Christine turned to Erik.

"I want to see him Erik."

"What do you mean Christine?" He rounded upon her, confused as to her meaning. How could she see him? His little body had been delivered to the earth, his innocent soul in heaven with the angels.

"I want to visit his grave Erik."Her deep, soulful eyes glimmered with unshed tears as she gazed up at him, her lower lip trembling.

"Perhaps it would be best if I leave you now. I will be at your service when your day arrives..." Eloise said, only to be interrupted by a desperate Christine.

"Please, Eloise, take me to him."

With a deep sigh, her enveloped Christine within his arms, cupping her head close to his shoulder. "We shall see him. Our son, our Aurélien. We shall go and visit his resting place."

xXx

"This is it. I shall leave you alone now. Do not hesitate to contact me should you need me." Eloise said, squeezing Erik and Christine's hands, and with a weak smile, turned slowly and left them at the entrance to the churchyard.

"Erik, I don't know if I can do this." Stopping in her tracks, she turned to face Erik, a deep frown of worry between her brows.

"Of course you can my angel. I know that if you not now, you never will, and it will haunt you for the rest of your life."

Swallowing the wave of tears that threatened to fall, struggling to gain control of her ragged breathing, she slowly raised her eyes to meet Erik's and nodded her head slowly.

"You're right Erik, of course you're right. I want to see him, to know that he's near me and that he's safe." They continued to walk through the churchyard until they came to Aurelien's resting place; the freshly turned dark earth and the simple nailed cross with Aurelien's name and date of departure from the earth upon it.

"Oh Erik." Christine cried, sinking to her knees beside the grave, laying the deep scarlet roses upon the turned earth, the tears streaming from beneath her lids and splashing from her chin onto the resting place of their baby. Erik stepped closer to her, kneeling behind her and closing her within his arms as she cried bitterly into the material at his shoulder.

"Oh Aurelien, my dearest little Aurélien. I miss you so much, why did you have to leave us?"


End file.
